


The Art of Defiance

by writteninblood



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Arkham Asylum, Based on a Tumblr Post, Canon-Typical Violence, Denial of Feelings, Disguise, Dork Squad, Emotional Manipulation, Fake Character Death, Fix-It Scene, Freak Family (Gotham), Fugitives, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, Heavy Angst, Jealous Edward Nygma, Loss, M/M, Mental Anguish, Murder Plot, On the Run, POV Edward Nygma, POV Oswald Cobblepot, POV Sofia Falcone, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Power Play, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, References to Canon, Repression, Rescue Missions, Reverse Isabella, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU), Scheming, Season/Series 03, Sexual Tension, Team Up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-03-10 07:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13497358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writteninblood/pseuds/writteninblood
Summary: AU where Sofia Falcone arrives on the scene while Oswald and Edward are still mayor and chief of staff.





	1. I've Got My Knife, Got My Gun

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this on my computer since November and figured it was about time to finish it and post it. Happy reading!

Oswald Cobblepot and Edward Nygma have long been accepted in Gotham as a couple. They’re frequently photographed together at dinners at the best restaurants, arriving together at the theatre for the premieres of new productions, and nearly always together at unveilings and openings. Every time the mayor makes a speech, Edward is always standing a short distance away, looking admiringly up at him. Every week, if not every day, there’s a photo of them in the Gotham Gazette, and the photos have gotten increasingly intimate. The latest one was taken during a school performance put on especially for the mayor. It features Edward speaking directly into Oswald’s ear, and Oswald smiling at whatever he was saying. They look for all the world like a couple besotted with each other.

The only people who don’t think they are together are Oswald and Edward themselves.

When Sofia Falcone walks into the mayor’s office, she finds Oswald leaning nonchalantly back on his huge throne-like seat, legs crossed, hands spread on the arms of the chair. To his side stands his tall ever-present shadow and chief of staff, Edward Nygma. His eyes are cold and calculating as he watches her approach, hands clasped behind his back. Sofia thinks the press may not have it entirely wrong; they do look like king and consort. She stops a metre or so away from the desk.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr. Mayor,” Sofia says, with all the girlish timidity she can muster.

“Not at all, Miss Falcone. Any daughter of my sworn enemy is…well…another sworn enemy.” Oswald chuckles indulgently. 

Sofia humours him with a small chuckle of her own. “Is there any chance we could speak… privately?” She ventures, eyeing Nygma warily. Oswald will be far easier to manipulate on his own. 

He tilts his head and looks at her pityingly. “No. Mr. Nygma and I have no secrets.”

For the first time, Nygma moves, but only very minutely. His lips curl up in smug satisfaction. 

She had hoped to make her pitch to Oswald alone; getting the approval of both of them will be more difficult. She is all too aware of the sway Nygma has over the mayor. It’s common knowledge that neither of them make any decisions without consulting the other. 

She does however have an idea that she thinks even Nygma won’t be so quick to dismiss.

“Well, I’ll get to it then. I’m sure you’re aware there are whispers among the crime families and the gangs of Gotham about whether you are really acting in their interest.” She pauses to let these words sink in. If Oswald feels any discomfort he doesn’t show it. Nygma remains as stoic as ever. 

“What I propose is this: you and I are seen having dinner together, and we promote an alliance between politics and crime – by meeting with someone who has a name that carries as much weight as mine, those who have doubted you will know how highly you still value the Underworld.”

“And how does that help _you_?” Oswald asks, leaning his chin on his fingers. 

“As someone looking to re-establish a presence in Gotham, what’s not to be gained by being seen with the mayor himself?” she smiles in a way she hopes he will take as flattering. 

He smiles and hums thoughtfully, and she can tell it’s forced. He leans back in his chair, looking pensive in an overly exaggerated manner. Nygma simply eyes her with distaste. Something about that man is extremely unnerving. 

“I will consider your request, Miss Falcone. I’ll be in touch.”

It’s a blunt dismissal, and she steps back obediently. “Thank you for your time, Mister Mayor. I’ll look forward to our dinner.” Making sure to massage his ego by reminding him of his status yet again, she smiles as alluringly as she can before leaving the room. 

*

“Well, _that_ was unexpected.” Oswald says, pouring them both a glass of wine. “Tell me what you’re thinking, Ed.”

Edward pulls a chair from against the wall around to the other side of the desk.

“She obviously wants more than she says. She stands to gain more from this than she’s letting you know.” He sits down and leans his elbows on the desk.

“Obviously,” Oswald agrees. “But she does also have a point about the whispers. They’ve been plaguing me for weeks now. Even the Sirens saw fit to warn me.” Oswald swirls the wine in his glass thoughtfully. “I think I should go to this dinner. Maybe I can find out what she is really after.”

Edward looks alarmed. “Perhaps you could invite her to one of your underworld meetings, something less public so that the ordinary citizens, whose votes we’re going to need, aren’t disturbed by your association with a well-known former crime boss. We’ve been doing so well distancing your reputation from previous transgressions, building our platform for—”

“Seems a bit cowardly to keep our meeting hidden though. I’m sure she will think that.”

Edward rears back in surprise. “Why do you care what a _Falcone_ thinks? This is about getting results, not whether she thinks you’re a coward or not.”

“My dear Ed, half the battle when it comes to power is fear and respect. She needs to see that I will _not_ be intimidated.”

Edward fidgets in his seat and is silent for a few moments. “All right. If you think this is the best course of action. But might I suggest that you choose somewhere low-key? I think that may be a good compromise.”

“Ed, you of all people should know that I do not do low-key.”

Edward is deeply troubled but doesn’t pursue further. 

*

When Oswald returns to the mansion after dinner with Sofia, he is distraught. He bursts into Edward’s office, white as a sheet. Edward immediately jumps out of his chair and Oswald throws himself into his arms. 

“Oswald, what’s _wrong_? Are you all right?”

For a few moments Oswald does nothing but sniffle into his shoulder. Edward furrows his brows and awkwardly pats Oswald on the back. Some emotion is trying to break free from the mire of feelings he keeps under strict lock and key, but he stifles it. Eventually Oswald steps back, his eye makeup a streaky mess. Edward is relieved when he does, it’s becoming increasingly difficult not to be weak and cowardly. 

Edward hands him his pocket square and Oswald dabs at his face while attempting to breathe calmly.

“The goulash they served was just like my mother used to make. I don’t know how she knew, but it was the exact same. She’s buttering me up for something Ed, I just _don’t know what_.” He spits the last words out with venom.

Edward’s heart rate picks up. So, Sofia is using Oswald’s mother to get close to him; the very same method Edward himself used to place himself as first in Oswald’s affections. Smart. 

He _hates_ her.

“Do you want me to kill her?” Edward asks hopefully.

Oswald looks up at him, slightly taken aback. “Don’t be ridiculous. We can’t kill her for inviting me to dinner. Not yet anyway. She may prove valuable.”

Edward purses his lips and looks at the floor, disappointed.

“I’m going to go to bed.” Oswald says, weariness obvious in every line of his countenance. “I apologise for that outburst. It was very unprofessional of me.”

“It’s just you and me here Oswald. You don’t need to be the mayor all the time.” 

Oswald gives him a small smile, and looks like he wants to reach out a hand and touch Edward, but he aborts the movement. Edward wonders why; it’s not as though he would ever refuse Oswald anything. 

“Goodnight, Ed.”

“Goodnight, Oswald.” 

Edward watches Oswald limp out of the room, shoulders heavy with the weight of the grief he still carries around with him. Edward doesn’t exactly like to see Oswald upset, but he is relieved that now Sofia has offended Oswald so greatly, she’s unlikely to come sniffing around them again. 

*

When Edward returns from a long day interviewing for a recently vacated position at his office, he hears quiet voices coming from the living room. Normally, on days where they haven’t been together, he would announce his presence to Oswald upon closing the door, seeing whether he wanted to have dinner with him or perhaps share a bottle of wine and catch each other up on their respective days. But this evening, he quietly follows the voices, feeling suspicion and dread in equal measure.

There on the couch beside a roaring fire, sit Oswald and Sofia. She is on the floor with Oswald’s bare ankle within her grasp appearing to massage the joints in the injured part of Oswald’s leg. Edward stays mostly hidden behind the wall, nausea coiling in his gut as he watches him allow her to touch him so intimately. 

Oswald is acting, isn’t he? Oswald himself is a master manipulator, there must be some sort of game he’s playing here. Edward knows there’s a mother shaped void in his life and that he probably yearns for that type of affection, but surely he wouldn’t be so stupid as to believe that Sofia genuinely _cares_ about him?

“What’s needed is warmth,” he hears Sofia say. _You little twit_ , he thinks. _Cold therapy is the best treatment for muscle injury, not heat. Of course I wouldn’t expect someone of your miniscule intellectual capacity to know that_. He balls his hands into tight, shaking fists. 

Oswald is staring down at her with wonder, eyes half full of tears. Oswald is an excellent actor, but Edward knows that Sofia is playing all the right cards to get this reaction from him. He also knows, instinctually, that Oswald is not the manipulator here.

“My mother used to sing,” Oswald murmurs, a hopeful smile on his face. Sofia begins to hum and Oswald looks completely enchanted. Edward thinks back to when Oswald stayed at his apartment and had he played the piano as they sang together; how much joy it gave him to do something so simple with his friend. He thinks about when he sang to Oswald as he slept peacefully, and when they sang together over take-out. They haven’t sung together in far too long. Those memories are among his favourites. 

A tear slips down Oswald’s cheek and Edward’s chest feels tight. In that moment he _hates_ Oswald for being so stupid and for making him feel like this; confused, hurt and like he can’t breathe. He doesn’t know to push these feelings back down, as intense as they are, it feels like they're smothering him. 

The nausea worsens and he doesn’t want to stick around to see what else is going to happen. He quietly makes his way up to his bedroom, stomach roiling, and proceeds to spend a restless and mostly sleepless night.

*

And that’s how it begins. At parties, charity dinners, premieres, unveilings, all of Oswald’s public appearances, she is the one on his arm. She is the one whispering in his ear, holding his hand, laughing at his wicked sense of humour. It goes on like this for weeks.

And Edward is there through it all. He’s a forgotten presence in the background, the one who does the paperwork, but never gets any input. His chats with Oswald at breakfast and dinner cease; he always sleeps in after late nights with Sofia, and his dinners are almost exclusively all with her. 

Worst of all, he can see how _happy_ Oswald is with her, in a way he never was with Edward. He’s deliriously so. The few times Edward does manage to get near enough to him for discussion, all he can talk about is _her_. 

He finds himself sitting alone at dinner, feeling empty, a hurt in his heart that he hasn’t experienced since he worked at the GCPD. He’s lost his friend, his only friend. The only one that’s ever mattered. The only person who has ever shown him genuine kindness and respect. He’d given him so much more than that too, a home and a contentment he never thought he’d never get to have in his life. And all of it completely unconditional. It was so easy for Oswald just to _give_. Ed had thought he’d spend the rest of his life trying to show Oswald how grateful he is. He wonders what to do about the situation, because he can’t go on like this. 

Everything they’ve spent months building, all destroyed because a woman wormed her way into his heart with the memory of his mother. But then again, was it? Destroyed? He’s seen for himself in the papers that the press is already referring to her as the new Queen of Gotham. Some of them even talk about marriage and speculate about an engagement announcement. Perhaps Gotham might be better off with a king and queen. Sofia knows exactly how to work the press, she’s already charmed them into a frenzy of adoration. The press are so fickle. For the longest time they were convinced Edward and Oswald were more than friends. What a ridiculous notion.

No, it wasn’t destroyed. It just won’t be him beside Oswald at the helm.

He still doesn’t trust her. He’s convinced she has a greater goal than to get close to the most powerful man in Gotham. And Edward doesn’t have much to go on other than his own instinct. The whole of Gotham is against him, as starry eyed over Sofia as they are: they want her as their queen. But he knows if he tried to explain his suspicions to Oswald, he would react angrily and ask why his best friend doesn’t support him and his happiness. 

But then, they haven’t been best friends in a long time. Not even close.

And just like that it comes to him; what he should do. 

He should resign.

He goes into his office to draft the letter. It doesn’t take him long to find the words. He makes the letter as cold and emotionless as he possibly can. Better to quickly rip off the band-aid. As he signs it, he feels a sharp prickling in his eyes, but he blinks it back. Emotions are weakness. Edward cannot afford to be weak.

*

The next morning, he waits for Oswald to arrive at breakfast. Finally, in the late morning, he appears in his robe, looking bedraggled. All the signs of a hangover are there. Edward resists the urge to give him water and painkillers. It’s not his duty to ensure Oswald’s well-being anymore. Had it ever been?

“Ed! I thought you would have left for City Hall by now. Everything all right?” Oswald sits down at the head of the table, his usual spot, Edward to his left side.

“I actually have something important for you to look at.” Edward says, laying the resignation letter over the top of Oswald’s empty plate.

Massaging a temple with one hand, Oswald picks up the paper and begins to read, his eyes becoming wider as he progresses.

“Ed, what is this?” Oswald’s hands are shaking.

“It’s my letter of resignation.” Edward states obviously.

“I can _see_ that. Why am I holding it?”

“Because you don’t need me anymore.”

There, he’s said it. He forces himself to look Oswald in the face. 

And he immediately wishes he hadn’t. Oswald looks hurt, confused and somewhat angry, all at once.

“What on earth makes you think that?”

Edward swallows and takes a breath.

“Perhaps if I were a lesser man who placed no value on our friendship and our working relationship, I could continue in this way. But you have Miss Falcone now. She seems to be exactly what you need. We’re not a team anymore, I am simply… your employee. And I find I cannot have one without the other.”

Oswald’s lips quiver with rage. Edward steels himself. 

“So basically you are running away because you are jealous of my friendship with Sofia and you can’t stand to see me happy.”

“No! That’s _not_ it Oswald. I...”

“Perhaps you want Sofia for yourself? Is that it?”

Suddenly Edward sees red and he leaps out of his seat. 

“Are you really so desperate for affection that you’re blind to what she’s doing? Can’t you _see_ she’s trying to come between us?” Edward near-shouts. Oswald also springs out of his seat, with a suddenness that makes Edward jump. 

“And what ‘us’ is that, Ed? Do tell. You are my chief of staff and _I_ am your mayor. Nothing more, nothing less.” Oswald is very red in the face, his whole body shaking, eyes ablaze. 

Edward stands there completely shell-shocked. The emotion that’s been trying to break free ever since Edward took a wounded Oswald into his apartment and nursed him back to health finally dislodges itself, only to utterly shatter his heart into pieces.

The world has completely shifted on its axis. Edward grips the back of his chair, suddenly feeling very unstable on his own legs. He needs to leave _now_.

“I hope you will allow me a day or two to find somewhere else to live, and someone to replace me. I will be gone by the weekend.” He risks a look at Oswald and sees his angry expression start to waver as his eyes fill up with tears. 

“Ed, you _can’t_ go,” Oswald says, his voice soft now. It’s a stark contrast to his rage of moments ago. Oswald reaches out to hold Edward’s arm imploringly. Edward’s breath catches in his throat as he looks down at the desperate clutch of Oswald’s fingers. He forces himself to meet Oswald’s eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Oswald. I feel this is what’s best for both of us.”

Edward abruptly pulls his arm out of Oswald’s grip, turns around and walks out of the room. He wills himself to hold it together until he’s in the privacy of his bedroom. 

“Ed!” Oswald shouts tearfully behind him. “Ed!”

He inhales shakily, but keeps walking. 

*

Sofia listens with satisfaction to the bug she planted in the breakfast room at the mansion. After many private conversations with Oswald, one thing has definitely become apparent: he is in love with his chief of staff. Oswald barely ever talks about anything else. She’s sick of it, and she feels like she knows Nygma better than he himself probably does, after listening to Oswald gush over him for hours on end.

Oswald probably just thinks he’s talking fondly about his right-hand man, but it’s obvious from the warmth in his eyes as he tells her about all the things they have achieved together, that he loves him, respects him, _adores_ him. Sofia wonders what stopped Oswald from telling Edward, why they have spent so long dancing around each other. Not that it matters. The fact they seem unable to communicate properly works entirely to her advantage.

And after listening to this argument, it seems that Nygma does return Oswald’s feelings, although he probably doesn’t know it, or is only just starting to realise it. The man is too emotionally stunted to recognise what might have prevented Sofia so easily coming between them in the first place. As a couple they would have been near indestructible. As it is, they are more like two lovesick idiots in the school yard than the two most powerful men in Gotham. 

Because this has become too easy. Oswald will already be a wreck just from Nygma removing himself from his life. But he will pick himself up and carry on, like he has done before. Every time Penguin seems to have fallen, he always claws his way back to the top. Her father had always said it was the thing he admired most about the Penguin. However, if Nygma were to die? _That_ would completely devastate Oswald and leave him in ruins. She has already inserted herself as the Queen of Gotham, who better to take over from her grieving would-be lover than her? Her father never had much of a stake in politics, but _she_ will. She will be more powerful than he ever was, more powerful even than Oswald. She will rule Gotham.

She picks up the phone.


	2. Let's See How Fast You Can Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He doesn’t want to see you, Mister Nygma. I’m sure you can respect that.”
> 
> Edward’s polite façade wavers slightly at that remark. “Perhaps he should be allowed to decide that for himself.”
> 
> “He did. He told me he _never_ wants to see you again.” Sofia smiles pleasantly. “After what you did, can you _blame_ him?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Flux for being the beta on this chapter.

From the state of Oswald, one would think Nygma was dead already. Sofia arrives at the mansion on the morning of Nygma’s departure, after having received a distressed phone call from the mayor. Nygma managed to slip through her fingers by leaving early before she could track him. It’s irritating to have made the mistake of thinking there would be a long, teary goodbye and that she would have plenty of time to tell her men to follow him. They’ll still find him, of course, except now it will take longer.

She finds Oswald sitting by the fire, glass of whiskey in hand and looking dishevelled; his shirt sleeves are rolled up and his suit is crumpled from likely lying on the chair all night. She can tell from the lack of focus in his eyes that he’s already on his way to drunk. It’s not even 9am yet.

The look he gives her when he realises she’s there is pathetic.

“He didn’t even say goodbye,” he says, voice quivering. “I walked past his room this morning and the door was left open. The bed was made and everything was as clean as it possibly could be, like he was never even there.” Tears slide down his cheeks, and his gaze follows her as she sits down beside him. She sits as far from him as she can get away with, given the overwhelming smell of alcohol.

“You never deserved that,” she says soothingly.

He manages a small smile at her sympathy and understanding.

“After everything I did for him…” He downs the rest of his glass. “Everything we could have done together…”

More tears fall and Sofia sits with him in silence. She can tell there’s more he wants to say, so she waits patiently.

“I don’t understand. I thought he would be happy for me. I don’t understand why he reacted the way he did.”

Sofia wants to ask just how understanding Oswald would be in Nygma’s position. She suspects stepping down isn’t something he would even consider.

“He took you for granted, Oswald. You’re better off without him. You deserve friends that support you and are there for you no matter what. Loyalty was always very important in my family. I know it’s important to you, too.”

“I didn’t think it would end this way,” he says, pouring himself another glass. “I thought it would always be the both of us ruling Gotham together. He told me, you know, on this very couch, that he would do anything for me. Just another lie. I told him he couldn’t go, but he went anyway. So many friendships are built on false promises and half-truths…but you’re a true friend, aren’t you, Sofia?”

He’s searching her eyes for the slightest hint of lies and betrayal. She’s never seen him more pitiful than in this moment.

“Of course I am. I only want to help you, Oswald. And sitting here moping isn’t going to help anyone. You need to march forward with your head held high and prove you don’t need him.”

“I don’t think I can do this without him,” he says, voice smaller than ever. “I need Ed.” He takes a very large gulp of whiskey.

“Oswald, I’m your friend and I _believe_ in you. You _can_ do this.”

Oswald offers her a watery smile. “Thank you.” He turns then to look at the fire, and it becomes evident that he’s done talking. She watches the firelight play over his face and wonders, not for the first time, how the man in front of her came to rule her city. He seems to be a hollow shell without Nygma, yet the first time he clawed his way to the top, Nygma wasn’t even there. He’s just so small, she realises. He’s just a man. So what is it that sets him apart, gets people to support him, has the crime families eager to take their chances on him? He’s not significant, he doesn’t have an established family name: he is the very definition of new money. He comes from nothing. And yet here he is, mayor and crime lord, presiding over both the worlds that inhabit the city he loves. _Her_ city. Her _birth right_.

She looks at the lost and heartbroken expression on his face and the answer comes to her. It’s his passion, and his great capacity for love, and how he puts these things, to some degree, into everything he does. He’s intelligent and cunning, yes, but it’s his passion and love that set him apart. Those things will also be his downfall.

*

Edward hates his new apartment. He misses the loft he had when he worked at the GCPD; he had everything there just how he prefered it, he place full of his favorite possessions. He lost all of it when he was sentenced. Now he owns so few belongings that his new place feels more a big, empty, open space, far too large for him, than somewhere he can call home. Even the mansion felt more cosy. He tries to stop that train of thought before thoughts of his happy life with Oswald really start to make him feel miserable. He hasn’t felt this lonely since he occupied a cell at Arkham.

Staring out the window at the skyscrapers, Ed listens to the night time sounds of the city for the first time in a long while. The mansion (of course) was outside the city and was quiet and peaceful. Edward isn’t not sure whether he likes being able to hear the beating heart of the city once more. In a way, being in the middle of the city with all these people manages to somehow amplify his loneliness.

He’d had to forge a number of documents to get the apartment, which was easy enough. But it made him realise that now he’s outside the mayoral umbrella of protection that Oswald offered, he is a wanted criminal once again. It’s not safe to do anything under his own name, and he has to apply this new status to everything he does. He has to be careful.

With one arm wrapped around his middle, he gnaws at the thumb of his other hand, deep in thought. Looking down at the smoky street below, he watches a mugger steal a woman’s purse. There isn’t a police officer in sight. She doesn’t scream or shout for attention, instead she’s resigned, turns around, and walks back the way she came. He would chuckle if he was in better humour. _Gotham_.

He glances at the sad looking take-out boxes on the floor. Having only moved in earlier that afternoon, he hadn’t had time to acquire furniture yet. He thinks back to how excited he was when he’d been offered the job at the GCPD, which had enabled him to afford his beloved loft. Purchasing things for his new place was such a novelty, gave him such an exhilarating sense of independence. He was finally free of the suffocation of his youth.

He doesn’t feel that way now. All he wants is to be back at the mansion with Oswald, plotting someone’s demise, with a glass of wine, by the fire.

Picking up the leftover container, he puts them on the kitchen counter. He doesn’t even have a trash can yet. The thought of it sitting on the counter festering all night bothers him, but there’s not much he can do about it, short of throwing them out the window. It’s not as though this city could get any dirtier.

What is he going to do now?

Resignedly, he decides to go to bed, so he doesn’t have to think about anything. It’s when he goes to the bathroom to get washed up that he makes the mistake of looking in the mirror.

Edward almost jumps out of his skin when he sees the _other_ him, seeming as if he’s leaning against the side of the mirror, inspecting his nails. He turns to look at Edward slowly.

“And what is it that you think _you’re_ doing?” the vision asks.

Edward splashes cold water on his face, but the hallucination remains, looking decidedly unimpressed.

“When Butch Gilzean threatened your place by Oswald’s side, I don’t recall you running away.”

“I’m _not_ running away.”

Other-Ed lowers his hand and turns to face him. “Funny, because just three days ago you fled like a little mouse before the sun had even risen. That seems a _lot_ like running away to me.”

“What else was I _supposed_ to do?” Edward asks, leaning forward on the sink.

Other-Ed gives him an exaggerated pout. “You really don’t know?” he asks, mockingly. “I leave when spurned. I give all, I take nothing. I can raise you to a king, or make you into a beggar. What am I?”

 _Love_ , he thinks, confused and disoriented, gripping edges of the sink tighter.

The hallucination grins at him, pleased. “You’re in love with Oswald Cobblepot, you pathetic loser.”

It feels more heart-stopping, more terrifying, hearing the words out loud.

“You _love_ him, and yet you _ran_ from him. Normally, I’d be the first one to mock your horribly gooey feelings, but the fact is: he gave us what we _both_ want. With him we had _power_. _You_ love _him_ and _I_ love _power_.”

Edward hangs his head and closes his eyes.

“I hate to admit it,” Other-Ed says, and Edward can hear the disdain in his voice, “but unfortunately, we need him.”

“He doesn’t need us,” Edward replies, not looking up.

“You’re _wrong_!” the hallucination suddenly shouts. “You left him there with a woman you _know_ is setting a trap for him. The pieces have already started to fall into place. _You_ leaving has made her path of destruction even easier.” There’s a silence where Other-Ed huffs angrily and impatiently. “ _Look at me!_ ”

Edward looks up, and the hallucination appears livid, his chest heaving.

“And what was it all for? This self-indulgent pity party? You. Are. _Pathetic!_ ” The hallucination flickers and almost seems to pop out of the mirror, making Edward jump. “You’re not going to make me go back there and fix _your_ mess, are you? You know I will be considerably less sympathetic than you…”

He has a brief visual of Sofia laying in a pool of her own blood on the floor of the entrance hallway in the manor. The duplicate of him in the mirror grins and looks excited by what he can see in Edward’s mind. It _is_ an incredibly satisfying thing to imagine but it’s _not_ the way to go about this. Edward frowns, and is about to say that fixing the situation is an impossible task, especially when it’s clear that Oswald loves Sofia, but Other-Ed cuts him off. Disadvantage of arguing with yourself, he supposes.

“The question is: what are you going to do now? Will you be a _man_ or a _mouse_?”

The look the hallucination gives him then is nothing short of frightening. Then the image flickers back and forth, from side to side in the mirror, wearing look of barely contained cold fury on his face, before finally disappearing with a static hiss.

Edward stares at the mirror for a few moments, waiting for his reflection to suddenly do something he didn’t, but nothing happens. His shoulders slump, and he heads into his bedroom, suddenly exhausted. After changing into his pyjamas, he sits on the uncomfortably firm bed, his arms around his knees. The moonlight is shining in through the window, covering half the bed. He stares at it pensively.

He has been a coward. He never should have abandoned Oswald, or made a show of doing so to satisfy his own vanity. He already knew Oswald cared about him. What exactly had Edward expected him to say?

The hallucination had shown him what he’d refused to acknowledge since he left, and had forced him to face the truth: he couldn’t simply stay away and do nothing while Sofia Falcone dug her heels in. It was bad enough that he had left at all. What he wants to do most is kill her, but he knows it’s too rash an action and will do more harm than good. Killing her now would only result in Oswald hating him and never forgiving him. No, he needs to come up with an alternative that shows Oswald who she really is.

He starts forming a plan in his mind.

*

Two days later, Sofia is standing on the threshold of the Van Dahl mansion, watching as Nygma approaches, escorted by two of her men. _Her_ staff are assigned tocontrol the gate, and all the perimeters of the mansion; she has all but moved in now. Oswald himself had suggested that she stay, since he didn’t want to be alone. It’s given her the perfect opportunity to initiate the next stage of her plans. Oswald hasn’t even noticed the swift despatch of his own men, so deep is he in sorrow. The net is closing in.

Things are working out nicely; her men had thus far failed to locate Nygma. Now, with the man himself daring to return to the manor, she can have him followed when he leaves.

Nygma looks every inch the chief of staff again, in his impeccable suit and black overcoat and gloves. She had expected him to look frustrated that he no longer has easy access to the mayor, but his face is carefully expressionless.

“Miss Falcone. Lovely to see you as always. Might I have a word with the mayor? My severance pay is, shall we say, rather unsatisfactory…” He doesn’t waste energy on making his polite greeting seem warm or genuine.

If this is the best the man could come up with as a method of getting to Oswald, he is definitely slipping.

“He doesn’t want to see you, Mister Nygma. I’m sure you can respect that.”

Edward’s polite façade wavers slightly at that remark. “Perhaps he should be allowed to decide that for himself.”

“He did. He told me he _never_ wants to see you again.” She smiles pleasantly. “After what you did, can you _blame_ him?”

Edward’s bottom lip quivers in a building rage. “You’re lying.”

“I’m Oswald’s _most trusted_ friend. I only have his best interests at heart.”

Moving suddenly, Edward manages to slip his arms out of the grip of her men. He makes a dash for the door and pounds on it with his fists. “Oswald!” he yells. “ _Oswald!_ ”

Her men drag him back and he doesn’t make it easy for them, writhing and kicking and waving his arms, continuing to shout for Oswald. She nods once and a swift knee to the stomach shuts him up. He finally stops struggling, leaning over and wheezing. When he eventually gets his breath back, he looks up at her with pure hatred in his eyes. Oh good, there _is_ some fire in there. She always did enjoy a challenge.

“He’s going to find out what you’re doing, you know,” Edward says, voice low and dangerous. He bares his teeth menacingly. “And when he does, we will take you down _together_.”

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sofia responds, folding her arms and effecting a look of boredom. She nods again and this time he’s pushed down to the ground, kicked from both sides until she says, “Enough.” He reels, clutching his middle, numerous cuts and bruises visible on his face. In stark contrast to the way he looked when he arrived, his hair has come loose and his clothes are covered in dirt. His glasses lay on the ground next to him. He reaches for them but one of her men crushes them underneath his boot.

“I believe you know where to find the exit,” Sofia intones, standing over him as he pitifully drags himself away. “You couldn’t find it fast enough the last time you were here.”

Edward holds up a hand in submission and slowly gets to his feet, grimacing in pain. “No, don’t, please. I’m going…”

When he turns around and starts to walk back towards the gate, she beckons her men to her. “Follow him, but keep your distance. Take the explosives. Wait for the next time he leaves and then hide them in his home.”

The men disappear into the mansion behind her to retrieve the explosives. Sofia watches Nygma limp towards the gate, hunched over. He looks utterly defeated, and of course, he _is_. She has almost won. He’s going to his death; once she presses the button on the detonator, Gotham will be hers for the taking. 

Stooping to pick up Nygma’s crushed glasses, Sofia puts them in her pocket. She may find a use for them later.

Once Nygma has passed through the gate, Sofia goes back inside. She makes her way into the kitchen, where she finds Oswald staring out at the gardens, looking rather distressed.

“What was all that about? I thought I heard...I thought I heard _him_. Ed.” He looks almost unbearably forlorn, and she can tell he’s trying to stop himself from crying again.

“Nothing you need to worry yourself about. You’re still grieving. How about I run you a nice bath? I know how you love them. It’ll make you feel so much better.” She smiles at him warmly. He gives her that childlike look of wonder again, and she fights the urge to roll her eyes at how easy this is. Show him a bit of motherly love and he’s as docile as a baby animal.

“Yes, that does sound pleasant.”

“Come along then.”

She takes his hand and leads him up to the bathroom. She runs the bath and adds the salts while Oswald undresses behind the screen.

“I’m coming out,” Oswald says in warning. Sofia turns around and looks out the window while Oswald pads across to the tub and settles himself in the water. The bathroom window affords her a view of the front gate. Nygma’s car is gone, and her men are just leaving in theirs, driving into the stormy skies with their trunk full of explosives. She smiles to herself. It’s all coming together.

Sofia turns back to Oswald, who looks very much like a child again, only his bony shoulders visible above the water.

“There,” she murmurs soothingly. “Isn’t that better?”

“Mmm,” Oswald responds, leaning his head against the back of the tub. He looks thoughtful for a moment, and looks over at her. He’s squinting slightly, so she supposes he can only see her outline, since she is backlit by the window. The brightness only makes his eyes look more vulnerable.

“Am I going mad, Sofia?” His lips purse into a thin line as he considers what he thought he heard. “I could have sworn I—”

“Hush. You’ll only upset yourself.”

He retreats back into silent melancholy, idly making little waves with his hands in the water.

It occurs to her as she looks at him that it wouldn’t be difficult to push his shoulder under the water and hold him there. She has had many opportunities to kill him with minimal effort—he’s made himself completely and utterly vulnerable in her presence, so lost is he in the pain of Nygma’s betrayal, that he hasn’t even noticed that he no longer has the protection of his own staff. He’s entirely alone in the mansion and at her mercy, and he doesn’t even know. For a fleeting moment, she actually feels pity for the man. He’s lost his parents, and now because of her, the man he loves. But her sympathy towards him never lasts, because she remembers that at least he _had_ the love of both of his parents. And he even had Nygma’s love, though he didn’t know it. He’s had _everything_. And once again she feels that sickening wave of jealousy, the one powerful, driving force in her destruction of Penguin’s empire, and the pity is long gone.

She perches on the ledge of the window and begins to hum softly. Oswald closes his eyes and smiles.

*

The following evening, Sofia is sitting alone by the fire in the living room of the mansion, long after Oswald has retired to bed. She’d just received the call informing her that her men have eyes on Nygma and the explosives have been hidden in his apartment. Yet, she hadn’t given them a kill order; she’d told them to await further instructions. Something is making her hesitate.

She’s come a long way, but she has yet to kill anyone. One of the lessons her father had taught her was to kill only when absolutely necessary. But killing Nygma _is_ necessary, isn’t it? The man is dangerous, or at least his mind is. And she knows that if allowed to return to each other, it’s not unlikely that he and Oswald would find a way to overthrow her and restore themselves to political office. They’re not men to give up lightly.

But it still amounts to cold-blooded murder. Nygma has never wronged her personally, he just happened to be between her and her goals. Perhaps she could arrange for him to be deported, sent far away from Gotham. But she knows she’s kidding herself even as she thinks it. He’ll always find a way back. She saw the burning fire in his eyes the previous day, and that, combined with his extraordinarily high level of intelligence, would ensure his return. He would never stop until he got back to Oswald.

No, killing Nygma is a strategic necessity. Even though she knows it will lead her past a point of no return, she realises that if she is ever going to surpass her brother in terms of success and thus impress their father, she has to give that kill order. She reaches for her phone.

As she’s flipping it open, there’s a knock on the door, and her assistant enters the room.

“I really think you will find this of interest,” she says, handing her a recording, presumably from one of the bugs around the mansion. “It’s from the breakfast room this morning.”

“Thank you,” she murmurs distractedly, as her assistant takes her leave.

She knew that Victor Zsasz came to visit that morning while she was engaged with business in the city. She allowed it because she knew Zsasz worked for Oswald on occasion, and to have her men not allow him into the building would raise suspicion.

Looking between the phone in one hand and the recording in the other, Sofia supposes Nygma can live a little longer.

She heads over to Nygma’s former desk and plugs in her headphones, pressing play on the tape recorder.

“What’s going on here?” Zsasz asks, his footsteps audible as he approaches Oswald.

“What do you mean?” Oswald replies. There’s a scrape of a chair against the floor as Zsasz takes a seat.

“All your people. They’re gone.”

“What?”

“The guard dogs on the grounds. They’re all Falcone’s.”

“That’s impossible. I would have noticed.”

“Would you? You haven’t been yourself since Nygma left.”

Sofia is seized by the urge to go into the breakfast room and immediately put a stop to this dangerous conversation, before reminding herself that it has already taken place and there’s nothing she can do about it now.

There’s a pause in the conversation, and Sofia imagines Oswald’s expression is probably pained at the mention of what’s still a very sore topic.

“While we’re on that subject,” Oswald says slowly, “I don’t suppose you have noticed him on the grounds? I really thought I heard him yesterday, but Sofia just dismissed it…”

This is very dangerous indeed. She didn’t know that he was still wondering whether he had heard something. It shows that despite everything, he is still suspicious of her.

There’s a long pause, which doesn’t spell anything good. Eventually Zsasz says, “Yes, I saw him. I was outside the gate. I was coming to check in and let you know things are going much better with the crime families now, but when I saw her talking to him out front, I hung back. I guessed she wasn’t going to let Nygma inside, since she had two of her goons holding him. But he went a bit crazy and ran for the door, started banging on it. I imagine that’s what you heard.”

“You mean, he _was_ here? I’m not losing my mind?”

He sounds so pathetically hopeful that Sofia grimaces.

“You’re in a dangerous situation here,” Zsasz says gravely. “She’s got you trapped, with no allies. The only reason she probably let me in here is because she assumes I know nothing and thinks I wouldn’t notice the changes. She hid all of her staff, but that only made it more glaringly obvious that yours weren’t there. You know, she had her goons beat Nygma until he left the property…”

Oswald says nothing for a long time, but she can clearly imagine him shaking with rage.

“Ed was right…” he replies, finally. “He said she was trying to come between us. But I didn’t listen…”

There’s a dull thud that sounds like Oswald’s elbow being dropped on the desk. She can visualise him with his head in his hands.

“She’s been playing me this entire time. Of course she has. Things that seem too good to be true usually are.”

Sofia allows herself a small smile at that. It seems the manipulative, cunning kingpin is still in there, just lying dormant these past few weeks.

“Could you get a message to Ed for me?”

She hears the sound of drawers being pulled out, presumably retrieving pen and paper.

“He might be difficult to find,” Zsasz comments. “He’s wanted by the GCPD and he’ll be doing everything under aliases. But I’ll do my best. What are you going to do in the meantime?”

When Oswald speaks he sounds shaken, but resolute.

“I’ll carry on as before. I’ll pretend I don’t know about any of it, until you’re able to bring back a reply from Ed. Please, hurry.”

Paper is folded and put in an envelope, the drawers are pushed shut.

The recording ends there, and she takes off her headphones, dropping them on the desk.

The turn of events is not ideal. She had hoped to kill Nygma without Oswald knowing she’d done it; perhaps set it up to look like a suicide. What if Zsasz had already found him and delivered Oswald’s message? She’s already lost a whole day. No, surely the men she’s got watching Nygma’s apartment would have reported any suspicious activity. She’s going to have to move fast now to ensure Oswald and Nygma don’t find their way back to each other. She calls her assistant back into the room and tells her to issue an order to make sure _no one_ is allowed into Nygma’s apartment.

An idea comes to her and she quickly formulates a new plan of attack, one that will achieve her end goals a lot faster than she had previously anticipated. Perhaps this new development may actually turn out to be for the better; at least she won’t have to carry on mothering Oswald for much longer.

Oswald’s plan to manipulate her in return will be short-lived.

*

The following evening finds them in the back of Oswald’s limo on the way back from the theatre. Credit where credit is due: he hasn’t changed his behaviour in the slightest, despite the slight shift in power. She’s been in his presence all day long, minimising his opportunities for communication with others. She’s even had her men discreetly wait outside the bathroom when he goes, listening for phone calls or texting, but they have reported nothing. Thus far, it seems, Zsasz has been unsuccessful in locating Nygma. Which means her plan can go ahead unhindered. She cannot wait to begin.

Their car and the one following with her staff both pull into an alley and Oswald looks to her in confusion.

“What are we doing?”

“Just having a little chat,” she smiles.

She gets out of the car and after a moment’s hesitation, Oswald gets out of his side and comes around to follow her deeper into the alley.

“What is this?” 

She can almost hear fear in his voice, can guess what he’s thinking. He’s calculating his exits, quickly forming possible new strategies in his mind, as he knows this situation isn’t going to end well for him. They stand opposite each other: Oswald facing back towards the road, and Sofia effectively cornering him, backed by her men. Smoke from a steam grate eerily passes over them.

“Are you going to kill me?” He says, finally dropping all the pretence, obviously coming to the conclusion that playing along isn’t going to help him anymore.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Oswald. I only need a couple of small things from you. Then you can go free. Start over. Maybe you could go into tailoring, like your father?”

“I will give you _nothing_ ,” he seethes, as he withdraws the knife from the head of his cane.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Sofia chides, retrieving the detonator from her pocket. “If you stab me, I might reflexively press this button and your beloved will be dead.” She takes one predatory step forward. “Because, you see,” she gestures behind her to the high rise directly opposite, “that apartment up there belongs to a Mister Edward Nygma. And I have had confirmation that he is in there right now, sleeping.”

Oswald looks up at the building across the street, and his expression is akin to that of a frightened animal; his eyes are wide and panicked. She lowers her thumb to cover the button.

“No!” Oswald cries, dropping his knife and cane and holding up his hands. “I’ll give you anything you want. Please, just don’t…”

“There’s a good boy,” she says in her motherly voice; particularly mocking now, after everything. She beckons the man on her right to come forward with a single finger. He reaches inside his coat and hands her a folder. She in turn hands it to Oswald.

“The deeds to the mansion, your resignation as mayor, and consent for me to take your place. All it takes are three little signatures and your _dear_ Edward gets to live.” She holds her hand up for a pen and passes it to Oswald. He inhales deeply and closes his eyes for a moment before signing the documents. Handing them over, his eyes shut in defeat. He just signed his entire life away, everything he’s ever worked for, everything he and _Ed_ had built together.

She hands the documents back to the man, who puts them back safely into his jacket. Sofia takes another step closer to Oswald, who won’t meet her eyes.

“Thank you for making this go so smoothly,” she says, effecting a look of sorrow. “And I really am sorry it has to be like this.”

Oswald’s head snaps up. “Like what?”

“I can’t trust that you and Nygma won’t team up to try and stop me. And so, one of you has to die. Considering that he’s a nobody that won’t be missed by anyone except you, well, he was the natural choice.”

He steps up to her and attempts to grab her arms but is held back from doing so by her men.

“Please, don’t do this! Do you want me to beg? I’ll get down on my knees and beg!” He wrestles his arms out of the grip of his captors and falls to his knees, not even cringing at the pain doing so must have cost him. She savours the desperation in his eyes as he continues to plead with her to spare Ed’s life. “We’ll leave Gotham, and we won’t ever come back. You have my word. _Please_ , just let him live.”

“I wish I could trust you, Oswald. But the first rule of Gotham? Trust no one.” 

She presses the button.

The effect is immediate. The sound of the detonation is deafening as glass explodes outwards from the windows and flames flutter wildly within. Smoke plumes begin to pour from the apartment. There are screams, shouts and the general sounds of panic in the street below, and Sofia feels utterly exhilarated. She has ascended. She is the new Queen of Gotham.

Oswald, still on his knees, stares up at the fire, his hand across his mouth, struggling to comprehend what just happened. One more loss might be all it takes to push him over the edge into insanity. Perhaps now she is mayor, she can arrange to have him treated in Arkham. The former mayor deserves nothing but the best, after all.

Looking behind her at the raging flames, she realises she knows exactly how to destroy Oswald. The one final blow he won’t recover from. She crouches down opposite him and gives him one of her warm, motherly smiles.

“Do you know what the saddest part of it all is?”

Oswald has started shaking. He’s going into shock, she guesses. She admires the flames reflected in his eyes, and relishes every word that comes next.

“He was in love with you, too.”


	3. You Might Think That You Can Hurt Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald falls deeper into despair as Sofia takes control. Meanwhile Edward struggles to come up with a plan to rescue Oswald.

Edward watches with satisfaction from across the street as the apartment goes up in flames. He hadn’t lived there long, but he’d never really liked it. 

Lackeys are always so predictable. He had visited the mansion, simply to lead them back to him. He’d known from the way that she looked at him that she wanted him dead, had suspected ever since his confrontation with the Riddler that was what she wanted. He’d watched with binoculars from the same apartment he’s watching from now, as they hid explosives around the place. 

He took a huge risk going back there after that, knowing that the detonator could be pressed at any moment. He installed a projector to give the illusion of his presence, amazing what a bit of light and shadow can do. He fixed it so he could control it remotely from across the street. He also paid a neighbour to dress like him and close the curtains at a certain time each night. They fell for his plan hook, line and sinker. As far as Sofia and her goons are concerned, Edward Nygma is dead.

“Hey Ed, you might want to take a look down at the street,” Zsasz says, entering the room and interrupting his triumphant thoughts. The assassin flops down on the white sheet covered sofa.

Edward looks down and his breath hitches. Oswald is being taken to his limousine by Sofia’s men, led by Sofia herself. From this height, he can’t see much but he can tell Oswald is distressed. He knows even if he ran down the stairs now he wouldn’t be in time to get to him. 

“She made him watch. He thinks I’m dead.” Edward says pointlessly, the realisation hitting him like a punch to the gut. 

“I was coming here to meet you but I saw the cars pull up and I watched from behind a dumpster. There were too many men there for me to get him. She made him sign over the mansion to her, and his resignation as mayor.”

He’s too late. She has everything she wanted. And Oswald is grieving because he thinks Edward is dead. He was supposed to be able to get a message to him via Zsasz before word of his fake death reached him. This is _not_ how it was supposed to go. 

“ _Damnit!_ ” He shouts, throwing the remote control hard against the wall. 

“He’s going to be very hard to get to in the mansion, especially once she becomes mayor and consolidates her power…”

“ _You don’t think I know that?_ ” Edward shouts, running his hands desperately through his own hair. “We have to come up with a plan. She can’t keep him locked up there indefinitely.”

“You sure ‘bout that?”

“Yes. People will start to talk. We just have to wait to see what she will do with him. She can’t kill him. After my death, it will be too conspicuous.” He turns away from Zsasz to look out the window at the plumes of smoke still billowing from the apartment. The emergency services have arrived and are trying to tackle the blaze and get everyone out of the building. 

“He begged for your life you know.”

Edward turns back to face Zsasz. “What?”

“She said it was your life or the mansion and the office of mayor. He handed it all over without hesitation. And when she said she was going to kill you anyway, he got down on his knees and begged her to spare your life.”

“He gave everything up for _me_?” Edward hates how small his voice sounds. His blood is rushing in his ears. 

“I don’t know why you two didn’t just get married when you had the chance. I love weddings. I bet your wedding would have had the best food.”

“What?” Edward asks distantly, still trying to process the thought of Oswald giving up everything they built together to save his life. Only to lose him anyway. How Oswald must be feeling, locked up in that mansion alone…

“Will you help me rescue him?”

“Sure. For now, I’m still on his payroll. And I am kinda fond of the guy.”

Edward moves over to the couch and sits down beside Zsasz, and tries to put his fraught emotions to the back of his mind. He needs his brain for something far more important. 

*

Sofia’s goons lead Oswald back into the mansion, their grip on each of his arms not very tight because he’s still in shock and numbly doing what he’s told. They follow Sofia up the stairs towards Oswald’s master bedroom.

However, she has a last-minute idea. They carry on down the corridor another couple of doors, and stop outside Edward Nygma’s old room.

“I was going to make you a prisoner in your own room,” Sofia says silkily, turning around to face Oswald. “But I thought it would be much nicer for you to be a prisoner in your former chief of staff’s room. You would like to be close to him, wouldn’t you? All the memories you shared. All those quiet goodbyes in the hallway before you went to bed, neither of you knowing you didn’t have to be alone…”

Oswald breaks down in tears.

Sofia loses her patience with the charade. It’s no fun when he cries. All he ever _does_ is cry. “Lock him inside.”

The men throw Oswald inside and he falls to the floor, making no effort to sit up or get up. He simply lays there sobbing. 

Sofia sighs as the door is locked and the keys are handed to her. The sooner she can put him in Arkham the better. 

*

Sofia has a press conference scheduled to take place on the following Thursday. She needs Oswald to be completely malleable and docile, and is wondering how she can traumatise him further into causing her no problems in the process of succeeding him as mayor. 

She’s lying in bed the night before, luxuriating in the anticipation of her big moment, when it comes to her. 

She leaps out of bed and throws open the door, peering round it to her guards. “Either of you have a light?”

They both scramble to hand one to her first. She takes one and heads back inside, retrieving Nygma’s glasses from the drawer of her dresser. She rips off one of the stems, before holding the lighter under the glass of one of the lenses to singe it. It will be perfect—seeing the physical evidence of Nygma’s demise will tip him over the edge. The more disturbed the press sees him, the better. She puts the glasses back in her drawer, ready for the morning, and gets back into bed with a smile on her face.

*

About an hour before they’re due to leave for the conference, Sofia lets herself into Nygma’s room. Oswald is sitting in the corner, between the bed and the wall, in the fetal position, something green clasped in his hand. On closer inspection it appears to be a pocket square. Nygma must have left it behind in his haste to flee the mansion at the break of dawn.

Oswald doesn’t look up at her. He has bags under his eyes, and he’s staring straight ahead, unseeing. There’s a haunted look in his eyes, that speaks of the immense loss he’s suffered. He’s poised to lose his grip on reality. 

Sofia takes the glasses from her pocket.

She crouches in front of him, two men of her security detail standing behind her in the unlikely event that he tries anything.

“Oswald, I’ve brought you a gift.”

He tilts his head minutely to look at her. She holds out the glasses.

“It was all they could find of him,” she says, making her voice as soothing and motherly as possible. “The last piece of Edward Nygma. I thought you would like to have them.”

She watches as he slowly lifts a hand to hover over the glasses. As soon as his fingers close around them, a wail of pure grief escapes him, shortly followed by more of those infernal tears. Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Sofia rests her hand on his knee and says, “my men will be here in thirty minutes to bring you a change of clothes for the press conference. We’ll leave shortly after. I’ll leave you alone now. No doubt you want some time to get used to the feeling.”

She turns and leaves then, the sound of Oswald struggling to breathe following her out.

*

Edward is sitting in a nondescript run-down diner, in clothes he’d never usually be seen dead in. He’s going incognito, since he’s supposed to be dead, and is dressed down in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, the hood pulled up. 

He _hates_ it.

He’s barely touched the breakfast in front of him, and the coffee has a worrying metallic taste to it that almost makes him want to not drink it. However, he’s barely sleeping, frustrated with his lack of progress, and he desperately needs to caffeinate. 

He’s contemplating forcing sustenance into himself when he hears “Mayor Cobblepot” being mentioned on the tinny TV. He turns to look at the small box TV in the corner at the end of the counter, showing a reporter standing outside City Hall. A feeling of dread pools in his gut as he lowers his sunglasses to watch. 

“Could you turn that up please?” Edward asks the waitress. 

“ _We’re coming to you live from City Hall where, in just moments, former criminal kingpin Oswald Cobblepot is, in a shock move, expected to formally announce his resignation as Mayor of Gotham._ ”

On the steps of the grand building behind the reporter, Sofia approaches the microphone podium. Oswald stands next to her, looking even more pale and shrunken than usual. What has Sofia done to him?

The camera moves past the reporter and trains its focus on Sofia and Oswald as she lays her papers on the podium and prepares to make her statement. 

“ _Good morning,_ ” Sofia begins. “ _As I’m sure many of you are aware, Mayor Cobblepot and myself have come to form a close partnership of late. Which is why it grieves me deeply to see him suffering so. It is with great sadness that I must announce the passing of his former chief of staff, Edward Nygma. In an attack as callous as it was cowardly, he was murdered as he slept, utterly defenceless and unaware. I can assure you that we are doing everything we can to find the perpetrator of this heinous act so that they may be brought to_ justice _. I’m sure you’ll all join me in posthumously thanking Mr. Nygma for his hard work and dedication to serving this great city._ ”

Edward’s lips are trembling with rage as a hesitant applause breaks out. 

“ _Mr. Nygma was the mayor’s dearest friend and associate, and this is an understandably difficult time for him. The strain of coping with such profound loss as well as leading the city has proven to be too much for him, which is why he has asked me to be his successor._ ”

The reporters all suddenly start shouting questions but she silences them, impressively, by simply holding up a hand. 

“ _This is not a request I take lightly, but how could I refuse such a dear friend in his time of need? The only thing_ as _dear to me is this city, and I will strive to uphold Mr. Cobblepot’s legacy and continue the brilliant work he has begun._ ”

Throughout the speech, Oswald simply stands there, staring at something he’s twiddling in his hands. Edward moves down the counter to get a better look at it. 

_His glasses._

“That…that… _witch!_ ” He yells, grabbing a salt shaker from the counter and throwing it at the ground, smashing it. 

“Woah, watch your language Ed, there are kids around.” 

He turns around to see Zsasz sitting on the stool behind him, looking as infuriatingly nonchalant as ever. 

“ _Mr Cobblepot! Any comments?_ ”

Edward, breathing heavily, turns his gaze back to the TV. Oswald doesn’t even look up at the cameras. 

Sofia puts an arm on Oswald’s shoulder and eyes him sympathetically before turning her attention once again to the media.

“ _I’ve made arrangements for Mr. Cobblepot to receive counselling in one of the finest mental health institutions in the city. That will be all for now. As you can see, Mr. Cobblepot needs his rest._ ”

She links her arm with his, a clear gesture of solidarity for the hungry press, who clamour for photographs. Oswald and Sofia get into the waiting limousine, before the camera directs back to the previous reporter. 

Edward stands there shell-shocked.

“Well, that was pretty fucked up,” Zsasz says, earning him gasps from the children of a family in a nearby booth. 

“She’s going to put him in Arkham.” Edward says, ignoring him.

“But she just said—”

“Do you _really_ think she’s going to put him somewhere where he _might actually recover?_ ” Edward interrupts, speaking slowly like he’s explaining something to someone especially stupid.

“I see your point,” Zsasz says, face lighting up when waffles are placed in front of him. 

“We have to rescue him before she takes him to Arkham.” Edward says, watching Zsasz chew loudly and obnoxiously as his blood pressure reaches boiling point. “ _We don’t have time to sit around eating waffles!_ ” He yells. 

“I’m sorry,” Zsasz says, mouth full of food. “Exactly what was it you were doing when I walked in here?”

Edward looks at the ceiling and sighs dramatically. “I was _strategizing!_ ”

“I love the new look by the way.” Zsasz eyes him critically. “I can’t decide whether you’re going for drug addict or drunken hobo.”

Edward’s nostrils flare. “We’re _leaving_.” He pushes his sunglasses back up his nose and makes sure the hood covers his head. Zsasz puts several bills on the counter, enough to cover both their meals, the salt shaker, a tip and then some, grabs the other untouched waffle and scrambles to follow. 

“It’s almost impossible to get to him in the mansion,” Edward says as they head down the street, sounding out the situation to help him make sense of it. “Our best chance is to retrieve him when he’s being transferred to Arkham. Once he’s in there it will be more difficult but not impossible. We just need to find out when he’s being transferred, and how we’re going to jump a moving vehicle.”

At that moment a gang of gruff looking bikers thunder past them and Edward stares agape. It’s perfect.

“Victor, do you have a motorcycle?”

*

Late that night, when Edward is struggling to sleep on the plain mattress in the apartment across the street from the ruin of his old one (he is essentially squatting at this point), he hears a familiar voice whisper in his ear.

“ _Wakey, wakey_ …”

He finally opens his eyes and jumps when he sees Oswald’s pale eyes staring back at him, the man dressed in all his mayoral finery. 

“Oswald?” He says, sitting up and reaching out, wanting desperately to embrace him.

“Guess again,” he says leaning away from his touch, pursing his lips in a particularly mocking look.

“Ugh, you again.” Edward flops back on the mattress. He doesn’t have the energy for this. He _needs_ to sleep.

“Well technically _you_ , but I digress.” The hallucination stands up and looms over him. “Well this is all going swimmingly. Sofia has all the power, you are literally dead as far as Gotham is concerned, and _I_ am about to get carted off to Arkham, never to be seen again. What a fool I was to think my friend would save me.”

“I have a plan.”

“Forgive me for not being terribly encouraged, given the state of you. Did you decide whether it was drug addict or drunken hobo?”

“Please just let me sleep.”

“Where’s the power, Ed? Why are you hiding?”

“Because the one advantage I have over Sofia is that she thinks I’m dead. If she finds out I’m alive, killing me will become her top priority.”

“But is it really necessary to degrade yourself like this?” Oswald casts his gaze over the hoodie and jeans combination Edward is still wearing, and then at the squat of an apartment. 

“It’s a _disguise_!” Edward spits, his head pounding and feeling exhausted with everything.

“Don’t you know that there is a way to be better than this without everyone knowing who you are? The answer to not being found is to stop being Edward Nygma and _become someone else_. It’s time, Ed.” The hallucination lays down beside him, on its side, and for the first time ever, the expression is kind. “He needs you to let me in.” He lifts his hand up to Edward’s cheek, hovering over it in a would-be caress. Edward hesitantly turns on his side to face Oswald’s likeness. His expression turns into something exactly like the way Oswald used to look at him, all warmth and trust. It pains him that the hallucination looks exactly like him, but it’s not him. He so badly wants it to be him.

“I need you, _Riddler_.”

Edward’s breath hitches at hearing Oswald's voice like that, so soft and reverent. He'd never realised until it was too late that he had always wanted to hear Oswald speak to him that way. In a way meant only for him. 

He needs to be the best and most cunning version of himself if he’s going to rescue Oswald. He takes a deep breath and nods, before closing his eyes. 

When he opens them again, there’s no one next to him. There won’t be any hallucinations, not anymore. 

This time when he pulls the cover up over himself, he sleeps peacefully.

*

Three days later, the day of Oswald’s transfer to Arkham (which Edward had found out about by following and listening to Arkham staff after their shifts) and Edward is fastening his gold cufflinks, as he waits in his apartment for Zsasz to arrive.

A short while later he hears the tell-tale roar of a motorcycle engine and grins to himself. He glances in the mirror quickly to make sure his domino mask is on straight. 

He locks the apartment and quickly heads down the stairs, grinning at Zsasz when he exits the building. When Zsasz catches sight of him, he casts an appreciative gaze over him and whistles. 

“I don’t know what happened to you over the last couple of days, but I like it.” 

“Thank you,” Edward says, adjusting his gloves and approaching the motorcycle. 

Once he’s seated behind Zsasz, the assassin revs the engine and says, “you ready to raise a little hell?”

Edward pats him on the shoulder, adrenaline coursing through his veins. 

“Let’s go get Penguin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how the Ed/Zsasz brotp happened, but I like it.


	4. But The Damage Has Been Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward and Zsasz race to rescue Oswald, an unlikely alliance is formed, and Edward explores his feelings for Oswald as the Riddler.

“ _Something doesn’t feel right_.” Edward shouts, wind whistling in his ears, as they close in on the limousine carrying Oswald to Arkham. “ _Pull up along side it!_ ”

Zsasz speeds up and they match the speed of the car, Edward lined up with the rear door. Holding on to Zsasz’s back and leaning over as close as he possibly can, he yells, “ _Oswald, if you’re in there, move to the other side, as far as you can!_ ”

He places a small explosive on the window and activates it. It beeps ominously for several seconds before detonating and blowing the door off. Zsasz manages to swerve out of the way of the door so it doesn’t take them out with it. When the smoke clears, it’s as Edward feared. Why didn’t he just _listen_ to his intuition?

“ _He’s not there! It’s a decoy! Go straight to Arkham as fast as you can!_ ”

Zsasz pushes the motorbike to its limits and they speed ahead of all the other traffic (not that traffic moves very fast in the city anyway). The dull colours of the city rush past them as they head through Midtown towards the South Channel Island Bridge. As they get closer and closer to Arkham and don’t find another limousine or a police transport or even a suspicious looking van, Edward begins to lose hope. They wasted too much time following the limousine from near the manor, and they’re going to be too late. 

Of course as it happens, as they speed towards the dilapidated building that sends a tingle of dread down his spine, a limousine is then entering, and the gates are about to close. Zsasz gets as close to them as he can but Edward knows the bike won’t fit through. Edward jumps off, stumbling slightly with the momentum and runs towards the gates. The gap is getting smaller and smaller, and Edward prepares to slip through sideways, but he doesn’t get there fast enough, his shoulder colliding painfully with the iron railings. He swears in frustration and grabs the bars, like he is the one in prison. He knows that even if he’d managed to pass through the gates, there’s nothing he could have done on his own, especially with the gate closed behind him and no viable escape route. 

His plan has failed.

Oswald is in Arkham. 

He looks up at the awful, gloomy building that still haunts his dreams, crows circling and making their spine-chilling calls to each another. The limo disappears from sight, around the side of the building, and his hands slide down the bars as he leans his head against the gate in defeat. 

Edward hears Zsasz approach, and straightens up. 

“Sorry, Ed.” Zsasz says. 

Edward doesn’t have time for apologies. 

“None of this makes sense.” They stand opposite each other, in front of the formidable wrought iron gates. “If she thinks I’m dead, why would she bother with a decoy? Who else would want to rescue Oswald?”

“No offence,” Zsasz says, “but nobody else _would_. But the Penguin does have his fair share of enemies, and he would be worth a lot, if captured.”

Edward hates how much sense that makes. He hates even more that Sofia has bested him, _again_. Even as the Riddler, he’s still losing. His bottom lip trembles as the waves of indignant rage pass through him. 

“There’s nothing we can do now. Want to go get a milkshake? I know a great place—”

“No.” Edward says, firmly. “If you would give me a ride back to my place, I would appreciate it. I need to come up with a new plan.”

 _Ed_ might give in to the offer of consolatory company, as weak and pathetic as he can be, but the Riddler has more important things to be doing. 

“Sure thing.” Zsasz says, heading over to the bike. Zsasz isn’t one to get offended by being turned down, and Edward is glad of it. The last thing he needs right now is sentimentality. 

He casts one last look back at the asylum, with its ominous clouds overhead and its impenetrable walls. He retakes his seat behind Zsasz as he gets the engine going, the crows overhead seemingly mocking him as they depart.

*

“Arkham doesn’t get many volunteers,” says a cringe-worthy man sitting behind a desk in the Arkham intake office. Sofia sits beside Oswald, who’s staring unresponsively at the document on the table before him. 

“A fine institution like this? That really is quite…surprising.” 

The man smiles, pleased, her sarcasm clearly not registering. 

“Yes, well.” He turns his attention to Oswald. “Please read and sign.”

Oswald doesn’t move. 

“Oswald, you need help. The only way you’re going to get better is if you let these nice people help you. Now be a good boy and sign.”

He turns to look at her very slowly, his eyes watery, and nods minutely. She knows he doesn’t see her. He sees his mother. Sofia rubs his back soothingly as he leans forward and shakily picks up the pen. 

“There you go,” she says softly, as the pen hovers above the dotted line. “The sooner you go in, the sooner you can come out.”

Oswald doesn’t read the document. He presses the pen to paper and seals his fate. Sofia stands up immediately, all motherly pretence abandoned. She doesn’t want to spend longer in these halls of filth than she has to. 

“You’ll take care of him from here won’t you?”

“Yes, Miss Falcone. You can leave him with us now. We’ll be sure to give you regular updates on his progress. And you can of course visit as often as you like.”

The man is simpering, and leaning daringly into her space. The smell of cheap aftershave is overwhelming. She steps back hastily. 

“I have to be going now, I have a city to run. Thank you on behalf of Gotham for all the hard work you do.” She smiles as graciously as she can, before turning away without looking back. “Good riddance, _Mr. Penguin_.” She mutters mockingly under her breath as she walks down the corridor towards the exit, power coursing through her veins.

*

Having spent the rest of the day researching, Edward finds himself alone with his thoughts in the late evening as he prepares to go to sleep. 

There’s something troubling him. That is, besides the fact he failed in his rescue mission, and that Oswald is currently suffering in Arkham. It’s something that’s been troubling him since he set the Riddler free. 

He’s the Riddler now. He’s no longer just Edward Nygma. He has become something else, _someone_ else. Vestiges of Ed are still there, enough that the Riddler wants to carry out his wish to save Oswald. But it raises the question: how does the _Riddler_ feel about Oswald?

He has never really spent any time with Oswald as the Riddler. There were times when he was triggered into being and took over, but Ed never fully accepted him, the way he has now. If the Riddler is truly who he’s meant to be, and he’s part of Ed, shouldn’t it follow that the Riddler feels the same?

He can’t say for certain. 

Looking at photographs of Oswald in the newspapers doesn’t help. He needs to physically _be_ with Oswald to ascertain how he feels. Perhaps he won’t feel anything at all. Perhaps the Riddler doesn’t feel love. 

All this hypothesizing is ultimately a waste of time, since he won’t be able to test his theories until he’s with Oswald again. 

He crawls into bed, for once quite ready for sleep. He has a feeling tomorrow is going to be a trying day, and he’s not looking forward to it in the slightest. 

*

Edward sits at a moth-eaten table in the visitor’s room of Arkham Asylum, as Jervis Tetch is brought in and manhandled into the seat opposite him. 

“You’ve got ten minutes,” says the guard gruffly and too loudly. 

Once he retreats to the far side of the room, Tetch says, “quite the mystery I see before me, who could this enigma possibly be?”

Edward tilts his head, analysing the man known as the Mad Hatter. He’s wearing a hat actually made out of newspaper. Edward doesn’t know whether to be disgusted or impressed by his ingenuity. 

“Oh you rhyme? That’s cute.” 

Tetch grins, pleased. It’s probably the first compliment he’s received in some time, and Edward meant it sarcastically.

Edward leans forward on the rickety table, conspiratorially. When he speaks, he keeps his voice very quiet and inaudible to the guard.

“I’ve come to offer you a deal. I can get you out of here, if you are willing to do something for me in exchange.”

Tetch also leans forward, his cuffed hands on the table. Edward tries not to cringe at the way he smells, an association with all things unsanitary and vile in Arkham that Edward remembers all too well. 

“I want the Penguin out of Arkham, and to do that I need to know where they’re keeping him, and I will also require your assistance.”

“Ahh, Oswald Cobblepot, the Penguin. Full of power and so conceited, once a king but now defeated.”

Edward’s fists tremble on the table with impatience and frustration. “Speak quickly, or I’ll leave you in here to _rot_!”

“He’s kept someplace separate from us,” Tetch finally complies, though the whimsical lilt to his voice remains. “People out there think he’s getting world-class treatment, but of course no such thing exists here. Where he is, I would describe it more as solitary confinement. As far as we know he’s in the east wing.”

“We?”

“Myself and Mr. Crane. We make it our business to know all the goings on in this delightful place.”

“Crane? The famous Doctor Crane’s son?”

“Oh yes, he’s quite the brilliant chemist. You’d be surprised what he can do with a toilet bowl.”

Edward’s face automatically wrinkles in disgust. Tetch laughs delightedly before leaning in and holding a hand to the side of his mouth so he can whisper exaggeratedly. 

“He’s creating a fear toxin for our escape. We would have gotten out of here eventually, but if we work together, dear stranger, it will be _much_ faster. We’ll help you get your penguin.”

Edward’s heart beats a little faster at part of his plan falling into place, and leans closer, his tone urgent. “What do you need?”

“See how the guard is sporting some rather ugly headwear? It’s so I cannot hypnotise them. If I can get _one_ , I can get them all.”

Edward had heard of the way Jervis Tetch had terrorized Jim Gordon for the death of his sister, and had heard unsavoury things as to why Jervis was so particularly incensed and focussing all his wrath upon Jim. Oswald himself had spoken of his own encounter with him, describing him as an “unsettling” character. But the man had attempted to make him and the rest of the attendees at the founder’s dinner drink poison, so he supposes Oswald had the right to feel unsettled. Edward still feels guilty for working late that night. 

He doesn’t particularly want to work with the man in front of him, but needs must. Edward has to do what’s necessary and this is the best method of extracting Oswald that he can see. After that, he hopes he won’t have to deal with the Hatter again.

“Time’s up!” The guard says, approaching their table. 

“Friday afternoon. Be ready.” He keeps his voice low, but now that he’s noticed the headphones, he doubts the guard can even hear him anyway. 

“There’s quite a question mark behind that mask, so who are you—do you mind if I ask?” Tetch says as he is led away from the table towards the door. 

Edward stands up and clenches his fists with determination. 

“You can call me…the Riddler.”

*

Edward tells Zsasz about his plan, instrumental in it as he is. Edward will visit Tetch roughly the same time that Zsasz visits Oswald (it has to be Zsasz, Oswald would recognise Ed and he can’t control Oswald’s reaction. He doesn’t want anyone to know he’s not dead yet), and will stay with him there until Edward, Tetch and Crane reach him, all of them leaving with Oswald together, serving as his guards.

Edward doesn’t trust Tetch and Crane, but he figures they can cause enough chaos between them that even if they desert before they get to the east wing, it will be enough for himself and Zsasz to get him out anyway. With Zsasz being the best shot in Gotham, Crane’s fear toxin, Tetch’s hypnosis and his own intelligence they make a formidable team. It _will_ be enough to save Oswald. It has to be.

*

As soon as the guard turns his back on Edward and Tetch, Edward pulls off his headphones and Tetch quickly gets to work, hypnotising him into giving Edward his gun and leading them out of the visitor’s room and straight to Crane’s cell. It isn’t long before another guard questions what they’re doing and Edward has to shoot, pulling the keys from their corpse. The sound of a gunshot will of course raise the alarm, and they have to move fast. 

“Dear Mr Crane, time is fleeting—” Tetch says as he enters Crane’s cell. 

Edward sighs with annoyance as he stands just outside the cell, watching for more guards. 

“I fear I will require a moment more Mr. Tetch,” Crane says, scooping something bubbling ominously out of the toilet bowl. “Do you have it?”

Tetch proudly hands over what looks like an empty perfume bottle, and Crane pours the thin liquid from a jar delicately into the bottle. 

“There now, scarcely a drop spilled.”

“Let us be at pains, Mr Crane.”

As he stands up, Edward notices he’s wearing a sack on his head, over the top of his Arkham jumpsuit. He doesn’t have time to ask. Nothing makes sense in Arkham. 

Inmates in the other cells get wind of what’s going on and start yelling for their own release, banging objects against the bars. It becomes a cacophony of chaos. 

Tetch and Crane simply flank Edward on either side as they proceed towards the east wing, towards Oswald.

Except when they round the next corner there is a group of guards waiting for them, and Edward can’t shoot them all himself. The hypnotised guard runs at them, failing to lay his hands on any of them before he is shot. The guards advance on them and Crane holds out the bottle. Some of the guards laugh. 

“What are you going to do, make us smell nice?”

“How about live your worst nightmare?”

Edward fires his gun and picks off several before he runs out of bullets. The first guard that comes within range, Crane sprays in the face. After the initial coughing and spluttering, they fall backwards, looking up at Crane, screaming horrifically. The others look down their colleague, baffled, and Tetch takes the opportunity their distraction presents to begin hypnosis. Realising what he’s doing, some of the guards in the back also start screaming to cover the sound of Tetch’s voice, running at the three of them, and everything descends into insanity. The irony of that thought is not lost on Edward.

He is about to resort to fisticuffs, hoping to knock someone out so he can take their gun, when his back knocks against someone else’s, and he turns around—only to be sprayed in the face with fear toxin. 

“Crane!” He yells desperately as his vision starts distorting. Had this been Tetch and Crane’s plan all along? Suddenly the sounds of the scuffle seem far away as he stumbles, disoriented, down the corridor, the way they’d come. The whole thing seems to tilt on its axis, and Edward struggles to keep his balance. The hallway fills with smoke. Out of the smoke appears a wall of ice, which Oswald seems to be trapped inside. His brain is so muddled with fear, he doesn’t know what to do but reach out and touch it. Heat thaws ice…he can rescue Oswald. He can get him out. 

But the moment he touches the ice, it disintegrates into thousands upon thousands of pieces, miniscule shards of Oswald strewn across the floor. As Edward looks down he sees one of Oswald’s eyes staring up at him from one of the pieces and a blood curdling scream is ripped from him. Then the ice melts, leaving a puddle of slush and human remains. Edward grips either side of his head and screams himself hoarse. There may be a name in his screams. He doesn’t know—all he knows is fear.

The smoke swallows up the scene, and from the light-coloured wisps of smoke, Oswald appears and limps towards him, his baggy Arkham jumpsuit dragging along the floor. The euphoria Edward feels at seeing him alive is so extreme to that he runs towards him, only to be stopped by Oswald’s icy tone when he speaks.

“You’re going to kill me. Just like you killed her. You always kill the ones you love.”

“What? No, Oswald I would never hurt you!”

But the next thing he knows, Oswald jolts, the result of a gunshot, and Edward looks down to see a gun in his hand, pressed against Oswald’s middle. He looks back up at Oswald’s face, where blood is starting to pour from his mouth in torrents. He starts to choke on it, to drown in his own blood. He grabs onto Edward’s jacket as he asphyxiates, eventually falling to the ground. Edward goes too, gathering Oswald to him, tears pouring over his mask and down his face as his heart suffers palpitations of horror in his chest. He closes his eyes and gasps for breath, overwhelmed by fear and grief, praying for all of it to be over. 

When he opens them, Oswald is no longer in his arms, but he can hear him gurgling and calling out for help. He picks himself up, feeling extremely nauseous, and follows the sound of his voice. The corridor sways as he stumbles, as though being shook by an earthquake.

He finds himself looking through the fog and over a pier into water, where Oswald is trying desperately to stay afloat, despite the blood swirling around him. 

“ _Ed, help me, please!_ ”

Edward lays down on his front and extends his arm towards Oswald, and manages to grip it tightly. But when he starts to pull Oswald out of the water, his grip on him loosens—Oswald’s hands are too slippery. “I can’t hold on, it hurts too much.” 

“No, Oswald, I can get you out!”

But Oswald’s hand slips free, as if in slow motion, and he starts to slowly sink into the dark abyss, still reaching out for Edward. 

As he disappears, Edward’s heart rate is so rapid he thinks it might explode out of his chest. He can’t breathe, his chest feels tight—is he having a heart attack? He pushes himself backwards to one of the walls of the corridor, awareness slowly starting to seep back into his consciousness of where he is and what he’s doing there. The hallway finally levels out, and Edward sighs in relief. However, his heart is still thundering, his clothes are soaked in sweat, and he feels like he might be sick any moment. 

He dimly notices his phone is ringing and flips it open with shaking hands.

“Where are you? I’m heading out with Oswald while the staff are distracted.”

“I got…side-tracked,” Edward replies, not having the energy or inclination to explain what happened to him. “Are Tetch and Crane with you?”

“No sign of them.”

No surprise there, self-serving idiots. Probably best for Crane—if Edward got his hands on him now he’d kill him. 

“Just get Oswald out and I’ll meet you at the apartment.”

“You got it,” Victor says, and hangs up. 

He slowly pulls himself to his feet, wanting to get going, but his legs wobble, and he has to brace against the wall for support.

He leans his forehead against it, and it feels blissfully cool on his feverish skin. Edward takes several deep breaths, but entirely unbidden, a sob breaks forth. He breaks down—the shock he supposes. The horrors he’d seen after exposure to the fear toxin are now burned into his brain forever. As he cries he realises that the toxin had shown him his worst fears—which turned out to be hurting Oswald and losing him. 

If those are his worst fears, it can only mean one thing.

Edward knows now, how he feels about Oswald, as the Riddler. If anything, the emotions Edward had felt are amplified. He’d _never_ felt terror like that before. It’s all crystal clear.

His impulse is to call Zsasz and ask him to put Oswald on—he has to speak to Oswald _now_. But they will most likely be on his motorbike, and this is probably a conversation they need to have face to face. 

Filled with a renewed sense of purpose, he takes a deep breath and steadies himself.

He has to get back to the apartment. He has to see Oswald.

*

Edward parks his stolen car outside the building, reassured to see Zsasz’s motorbike already parked there. 

He heads up to the second floor apartment, and feels like everything is going in slow motion, the way it does when you’ve been looking forward to something and you want time to go faster. 

He fumbles with his key in the lock, and Zsasz saves him the trouble by unlocking the door and letting him in. 

“I’m going to leave you two to it,” Zsasz says, uncharacteristically serious. “I haven’t told him anything.”

“Thank you.” Edward says, genuinely. He gives Zsasz a small nod of gratitude. 

Zsasz pats him on the shoulder and says, “good luck” before leaving and closing the door behind him. 

Edward looks around the apartment and finally lays eyes on a familiar silhouette, sitting in his chair by the window. His exhausted heart starts thumping noisily again. Edward takes a few steps into the room. 

“ _Oswald_.”

Oswald slowly turns to face him, but Edward can’t see his expression because he’s backlit by the window. He gets up and limps towards Edward.

His face comes into focus, and he can see Oswald staring up at him, scrutinizing, like he hardly dares to believe what he’s seeing. Edward can read a lot of anguish in his eyes; what Oswald has been through since they parted, he hardly dares to imagine. He has bags under his eyes and his face is gaunt in a way he’s only seen once before. Edward wonders how much grief a person can stand before they break—probably far less than Oswald has. Yet he’s still here, still very much alive, and that spark of resilience that makes him so uniquely _Oswald_ has not quite died. Despite unimaginable loss, he is still fighting for survival. Edward feels a surge of admiration and of something else—something impossibly more powerful and exhilarating. 

“Ed?”

“Yes it’s me, the one and only!” Edward laughs nervously. He recognises his voice as being too loud but he’s so happy to see Oswald that he’s powerless to stop himself. 

That is, until he sees tears start to fall down Oswald’s cheeks. 

“I thought—I thought you were…”

“I faked it. I wanted to tell you somehow, but I couldn’t. It’s a long story. I’m just so glad we’re finally together again!” And with that he pulls Oswald to him and holds him tightly. Oswald grips the back of his jacket and sobs into his chest. 

They stand there like that for a while, in the dimness of the apartment, Edward enjoying the feeling of Oswald being wonderfully warm and alive in his arms. It reassures and soothes the parts of him that are still afraid after exposure to the fear toxin. 

When Oswald finally steps away, he looks at Edward. _Really_ looks at him. Edward swallows. This is the moment to tell Oswald of his realisation, and of course Oswald will tell him he feels the same, and they can be together at last. He is about to begin, but Oswald speaks first.

“What happened to you?” Oswald is looking at Edward’s mask. 

Edward is thrown, but recovers quickly. He takes the mask off. “Oh this? It’s just a disguise. Don’t want anyone knowing I’m still alive just yet.” He grins conspiratorially.

“No I mean, _you_. You’re not the same.”

How does he begin to explain it all? His brain is still a bit foggy from the fear toxin and the subsequent trauma, but he tries to think of the most logical way to tell Oswald everything. 

“You’re him.” Oswald says slowly but assuredly, before he can make an attempt. “The man that turned me away when I was tarred and feathered and weak and had nowhere else to go.”

Edward is unsure how this got so off track, and he is starting to feel afraid. He is beginning to doubt himself, and his confidence in Oswald feeling the same way about him. He’d seen Oswald on the television, his grief as he held Edward’s glasses in his hand, and thought such mourning must come from a profound place of love. Even looking at him now, he had thought the evidence of great suffering on his face was confirmation of his love. Was he wrong?

“Well yes, but I’ve changed—so much has happened since then, I’m not—I understand how important you are now—”

“You’re not my Ed.”

Edward’s blood runs cold. 

He was not wrong. It’s just not _him_ that Oswald loves. Loved. Ed is no more.

They stare at each other for a few moments, the air thick with tension. Oswald’s eyes are searching, as if he could find some piece of his Ed still inside him. He can see in Oswald’s eyes that this is not something he can fight or change his mind on, but still, Edward feels he has to try. 

“This is who I’m meant to be, Oswald. I did it for you. I became him to _save_ you.” Why can’t Oswald understand that the Riddler _starts_ with Edward, that he is the root of everything? That what he is now, _who_ he is now, is built on Edward Nygma. “Being Edward alone wasn’t enough, he’s not as clever, cunning and ruthless as the Riddler. I needed to be him, to be the best version of myself, to get to you.”

“He was enough for me.” Oswald says, a fresh wave of tears running down his face. “And now he’s gone.”

Edward feels the finality in his words like real flesh wounds being made on his skin. He doesn’t know what to say, can’t find the words. He’s stunned, and his heart is beginning to break. 

“Sofia was right.” He fishes something out of the purple and black coat Edward had given Zsasz to give to Oswald when he got to him.

Edward’s glasses. Oswald holds them in the palm of his hand. 

“Ed died in that explosion. And this is all I have left of him.”

The pain is unbearable. All this time he’d been worrying about whether he still loved Oswald as the Riddler, but had never considered whether Oswald would still love _him_. He feels as though his heart has broken into shards like the ice in his hallucination. It will never be possible to put the pieces back together. It’s all Edward can do not to cry and beg and plead. 

“I’m going to sleep.” Oswald says simply, shuffling over to the bed, laying down and facing away from him. Edward sees his shoulders shake, and knows he’s grieving all over again. 

Edward sits down numbly in the chair by the window. His entire body aches, and his head is throbbing, and he only realises how exhausted he is now that he’s sitting down. 

He turns over the mask in his fingers. Stares absently at its green and purple hues. 

He can’t go back now. He doesn’t _want_ to go back, even if Ed is the one Oswald loves. If there’s one thing the Riddler can do, it’s shut down feelings, especially emotions that threaten to destroy him like this. He mentally puts his love for Oswald into a box and buries it, deep in the ground. As much as it hurts, there’s no use dwelling on it. What’s done is done, and both he and Oswald need to look forward. What kind of relationship can they have now, if any?

The Riddler will kill Sofia Falcone if it’s the last thing he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were a lot of references to the S3/S4 canon in this chapter (and a CMS quote, kudos to you if you got it). I've sort of used Ed's exposure to fear toxin as a window into how everything went wrong in the timeline as we know it (I also headcanon that Ed exposed to fear toxin would be a really intense experience because of how he hallucinates anyway, hence why everything he saw was so elaborate). I've also tried to show that even in an alternate timeline that the key events happen the same way (a woman comes between them, one thinks the other is dead, Oswald loses everything, Ed breaks Oswald out of Arkham etc). 
> 
> The fic will shift slightly in the next chapters, as I feel Edward POV has come to a natural ending and we'll start seeing things from Oswald POV from the next chapter onwards. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Running to the Edge of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward and Oswald go on the run and become fugitives in their own city.

When Oswald awakens, he finds he can’t open his eyes, seemingly glued shut by all the tears he’d shed the previous night. He rubs his eyes and scrapes away the salt trails with his nails, having a moment of disorientation when he doesn’t see the grimy wall of his Arkham cell right in front of him. It takes him a few moments to remember where he is, and how he got there. On the heels of remembering that, he remembers seeing Edward, and his brief jubilation before his heart broke all over again. He sags under the weight of his loneliness, and the shame that befell him upon learning Sofia Falcone’s real intentions. 

He lifts his head to locate the other man. A fragile dawn light is filtering into the room, casting a steely cold light upon Edward, who lays slumped across the chair in the window. It aches to only have his head raised, so he sits up fully, wrapping his coat tighter around himself against the chill in the room. He shuffles over to Edward’s chair, and stares quietly down at him. His head is leaning to the side, neck at what looks like an uncomfortable angle, and he fights the urge to move him, or wake him so that he doesn’t end up with a crick in the neck. 

But he sees the mask in his hand, and remembers. This isn’t his Ed. It really is the strangest thing, how he looks the same, especially now in sleep, but is an entirely different man. A cold, callous man, who never cared for Oswald. He wonders why he would even bother to save him at all, after becoming the Riddler. Perhaps he needs Oswald for something. He’ll have to be on his guard.

But he looks so like _Ed_ in sleep. The memories come easily to him; Edward falling asleep on the couch by the fire, Edward asleep at his desk in the mansion after working late. Oswald slipping a blanket around his shoulders, his hand hovering over his hair, his face, desperately wanting to touch.

How he had mourned for that Edward. The depths of his grief had been unimaginable; he’d felt like he was losing himself. So soon after his mother and father, and with Sofia’s betrayal on top of it all—he’d been left with no one. To see Edward again, only to discover him alive only in body and not in mind, was excruciating— _is_ excruciating. It seems to be the way of Oswald’s life: constantly given hope, only to have it slip through his fingers like water. 

Sofia is responsible for all this. Oswald and Edward played their own parts in the events that followed, certainly, but Sofia is at the root of everything. And while many other things are still being processed by a mind that has been through an extraordinary amount in a short space of time, he knows one thing: he wants Sofia Falcone dead. 

He sits down as quietly as he can, with his back to the wall, below the window, and waits for Edward to wake up. 

*

“What can you tell me about Penguin’s accomplice?” Sofia asks, leaning both her hands on the desk in front of her in a clear stance of power. 

On the other side of the desk, Tetch and Crane exchange glances. They’re each held captive by two of Sofia’s men. 

“Such a mystery I have seen, who wears a mask and dresses in green—”

“No. More. _Rhyming!_ ” Sofia throws a glass at the wall in rage, the sound of it shattering extremely satisfying to her ears. She makes eye contact with her men and they tighten their respective grips on the two escapees. 

“He calls himself the Riddler.” Tetch says, twisting with discomfort. “He was tall, wears a domino mask, a bowler hat, and a purple and green suit. He asked myself and Mr. Crane to help him get Penguin out. That’s all we know.”

“And you say you met with him—he came to visit you in Arkham before you executed your plan?”

“Yes.”

“And when was this?”

“The day after Penguin arrived.”

She glances at her men again. “It’s him. The same man who followed the decoy car with Victor Zsasz.”

Sofia stalks around to the other side of the table, bringing her closer to the man with a sack on his head and the man who gives her the creeps. She perches on the edge of the desk.

“I want you both to find Penguin and…this Riddler man.”

“Yes of course, we’ll go right now…”

Sofia clucks her tongue and moves her index finger from side to side. “What do you think I am, stupid? I know you’ll run out of here with no intention of coming back.”

Tetch’s mouth falls open in a laughable expression of offended indignity. 

“Which is why I’m willing to offer you both something in exchange, provided they are brought to me. Dead or alive, I don’t care which. I just _want_ them.” She looks at each of them in turn, and smiles. “So, what is it that each of you wants most?”

They’re both frustratingly silent, but Sofia does not let her impatience show on her face. She looks at Tetch and raises her eyebrows. His bottom lip seems to twitch in rage as he thinks of what he wants most. Sofia has a sneaking suspicion she knows what—or who—it is. 

“James Gordon. The swine is mine.”

“Done.”

“You can just _give_ me James Gordon? Just like that?”

“I have him wrapped around my little finger. Bring me the Penguin and his Riddler, and he’s all yours.”

The light in Tetch’s eyes reaches a new level of fervour. 

“And you, Mr. Crane? What do you desire?” She tilts her head curiously. 

“I want nothing from you.”

Tetch turns his head to look at Crane furiously. “Now, now, let’s not be hasty. As I recall you were not long since telling me you wanted your own lab to fully experiment with your chemicals. Remember: _an earthly kingdom of terror_.”

That last sentence seems to hold some importance for Crane, because he goes utterly still. At length, he gives a single nod. Tetch turns back to Sofia with a smile.

“One James Gordon and one state of the art laboratory please.”

“Done. And I’m sure you’d like a change of clothes before you go. And some food?”

Crane remains as stoic as ever, but Tetch nods eagerly. 

“My assistant will bring you anything you need for your…hunt,” Sofia says, circling back around to the other side of her desk. “ _Don’t_ disappoint me.” She looks at the pencil holder on the desk. The odd thing has a question mark on it, a remnant of Edward Nygma’s tenure that still hasn’t been removed. She smiles at the thought of how he died by her hand. 

Sofia nods to her men and they guide Tetch and Crane from the room. She has confidence in Tetch’s raw desire for revenge, if nothing else. She drops Nygma’s pencil holder into the trash.

*

It’s another full hour before Edward begins to wake up. He groans as he lifts his head from its awkward position on the back of the chair, and blinks sleepily. 

Oswald watches as his eyes land on him. They soften for a moment, before pain comes back into them, as he remembers. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Oswald says, wanting to gloss over the awkwardness between them and get to the more pressing problems at hand. “It would be mutually beneficial if we worked together to bring Sofia down.”

Face utterly expressionless, Edward gets up and heads over to the kitchenette to make some coffee. “Would you like some?” He asks over his shoulder.

Oswald frowns at the lack of response to his statement, but having something to wash away the cobwebs is too tempting to refuse. “Yes, please.”

After a few minutes, Edward comes back to sit down, handing Oswald one of the two cups. Oswald thanks him and takes a revitalising sip. 

“As it stands we both have a common goal—we want Sofia dead. And the fastest way we can make that happen is if we do it together. Once it’s done, we don’t ever have to see each other again.”

Oswald expects Edward to look hurt, but his face is an emotionless mask.

“Whatever you would like,” Edward says, his tone cold. “And I concur, together we will be more efficient.”

“Then we are in agreement. I think our first port of call should be Jim Gordon’s apartment.”

“You want to tell him everything, show him that I’m alive.”

“Yes, then we can have Sofia debunked as a fraud, I can take back my role as mayor…and you can do whatever you want.”

“You forget, Oswald, that you are also a corrupt crime lord, and people supported you. What makes you think they’ll suddenly turn on Sofia? People in Gotham simply want someone who can get the job done, regardless of their previous indiscretions.”

“Oh, to _hell_ with the people! I don’t care what they think. I just need her legitimacy overturned, so I can reclaim my rightful place.”

“You used to care what they think. That was what made you such a good leader. They loved you for it. They put you in city hall.” 

“I don’t _care_!” Oswald screams, his heartbreak and frustration with everything that’s gone wrong finally spilling over. “Gotham belongs to me. I _rule_ this city. And I am going to get it back.”

Edward’s expressionless mask breaks, and his face shows affronted incredulity. His manner becomes dangerous, like that of a snake ready to strike. “We _both_ ruled Gotham. Without me, you would not have become mayor. Don’t you ever forget that.” His voice rumbles angrily like the ominous creak a frozen lake makes when it’s about to crack. 

Oswald has been used to Edward being pliant and reasonable, catering to his needs, indulging his whims. This man in front of him, whoever he is, bows to no one. Oswald almost feels intimidated. The urge to give a biting retort is strong, but he needs Edward’s help, so with an effort, he calms himself down. 

“You’re right. I apologise. Shall we pay our favourite police officer a visit?”

“Hmm.” Edward murmurs, which Oswald supposes is his assent. “We’re going to have to get you some new clothes though. And think of a disguise. Your limp is unfortunately distinctive.”

Oswald feels a flash of anger at one of his greatest weaknesses being talked about in such a manner, but he again manages to restrain himself. “All right. You can tell me your ideas in the car on the way to the tailor.” He looks down at his jumpsuit with disgust. If only one good thing happens today, it should be getting a fine new suit.

*

After acquiring three new suits for Oswald (not exactly tailored to perfection since speed is of the essence, but the fit is acceptable) from a tailor that Oswald had to insist Edward blindfolded instead of killed since he’s one of Oswald’s favourites, they drive to Jim’s apartment building. 

Oswald goes to open the door, but Edward grabs his arm. “Wait.”

“What is it?”

“Sofia is smart. Surely she knows this is the first place you would go on getting out of Arkham. There are probably people watching Jim’s apartment.”

“Do you think they’d watch the fire escape round the back of the building? We could go up that way.”

“It’s risky.”

“It’s that or we come up with a plan B.”

Oswald watches Edward evaluate the situation, looking up and down the street. There aren’t many people around, as it’s still very early.

“All right, you stay close behind me. Oh and here,” Edward retrieves something from his suit pocket. He holds out a pair of sunglasses for Oswald to take. “I found these while you were changing into your suit.”

It’s quite extraordinary, they are very similar to a pair he used to own that was gifted to him by Fish Mooney. He allows himself a small smile. “Thank you, Ed.”

Edward stares at him a moment, his expression unreadable, before cocking his gun and getting out of the car. Oswald puts on the glasses and follows. 

They stay close to the side of the building as they head down the alley and around the back to the fire escape. Edward gives the surrounding area a once over before gesturing for Oswald to lead the way. They pass makeshift washing lines and various junk that’s been left on the ‘balconies’ in haphazard piles. This isn’t the sort of place where the residents carefully cultivate flower boxes. Oswald wrinkles his nose in disgust. Why Jim would condescend to live in such a place these days, especially after the grandeur of the first apartment he lived in with Barbara Kean, Oswald will never know. 

They reach Jim’s apartment without incident, and he knocks on the rear door as Edward keeps an eye on their surroundings. They wait, but there are no sounds, no sign of Jim. Edward hands Oswald a lock pick and he gets to work while Edward stands guard. It’s far too easy, and Oswald tuts at Jim’s utter lack of security, given how many enemies the man has made for himself, as the door swings open. They hurry inside. 

The place is as disgusting as he remembers; Jim is a typical man’s man who has no house pride and never cleans up after himself. It’s ghastly. His mother would be horrified—even though they lived in a tiny apartment in a bad area, she always kept the place immaculate. Not that much could really be done to improve the dank hole that Jim has decided to call home anyway. They split up and go through all the rooms to double check. Oswald is looking around the kitchen, determinedly not touching anything, when Edward calls him from one of the rooms. His voice sounds ominous. 

When Oswald joins him, he finds Edward standing with folded arms looking down at Jim’s bed. 

“She was here.” Edward says, gesturing to a long dark hair on the pillow. 

Oswald looks at the rumpled state of the bed as the pieces all fall into place. Of _course_ Sofia is sleeping with Jim. Probably has been for some time now. She wormed her way into the lives of everyone important enough to manipulate. Naturally it follows that Jim is as stupid as Oswald is, and far more susceptible to her feminine wiles. 

Edward seems misconstrue Oswald’s silence as a lack of understanding because he says, “they had sex.”

Oswald looks at him, exasperated. “Yes, _thank you_ , I had in fact deduced that for myself.”

Edward looks back at the bed contemplatively, utterly unperturbed by Oswald’s sarcasm. He lifts the very edge of the pillow to reveal a semi-automatic shotgun underneath. He looks up at Oswald, amused. 

“Do you think he always has sex with a gun under the pillow?”

Oswald has the perfect witty response on the tip of his tongue when he hears the front door click. It can’t be Jim coming home, not this time of day. Edward hurriedly passes Oswald Jim’s gun (Oswald is very glad he’s wearing gloves) and says, “out the window, it’s also on the fire escape. Quickly!” 

*

Edward is just climbing over the ledge when Jonathan Crane and Jervis Tetch enter the room. His heart lurches sickeningly at the sight of Crane in dark robes with scarecrow-like stitches on a mask covering his face, like something out of a nightmare. It reminds him of the fear toxin induced hallucinations. It was the last thing he saw before the corridor of horrors. 

“Riddler!” Oswald shouts from outside. Edward is glad Oswald has the presence of mind not to call him Ed, because he feels too shaken to do anything other than hurl himself out the window and run. He throws Oswald the car keys, who miraculously catches them as he hurtles down the metal steps, clang, clang, clang. 

He hears Tetch and Crane running down the fire escape after them, shortly followed by gunshots ricocheting off the metal. Edward ducks down for more protection from the railings, and aims his own gun in their direction. Oswald is far ahead of him now, sees him running down the alley towards the car. There’s nothing for it but to run—what if Crane drops some fear toxin on him? The thought has him leaping over the last set of steps and jumping down to the ground. He runs flat out towards the car, and Oswald opens his door for him. The second he’s inside, Oswald puts his foot down and the tyres screech as they speed away. Edward sags in his seat once he’s pulled the door shut, and tries to get his breath back. 

“Are they following?” Oswald asks, driving aimlessly and taking turns entirely at random. 

Edward turns around in his seat to look. “No I don’t think so.”

“Do you have any idea where we can go to figure out our next move?”

“I’m thinking,” Edward says, still trying to catch his breath. “Can’t go to the mansion, the apartment isn’t safe to go back to…” It dawns on him there is nowhere in Gotham that’s safe for them to go. 

“I hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking,” Oswald says, even as he starts heading towards the Metro-Narrows Bridge. 

“It’s just so that we can regroup. We are going to need to come up with a better plan than Jim Gordon. We need some time to strategize properly.”

“All right. I don’t think anyone would think to look outside Gotham. It’s a good idea, even if I don’t like being forced out of the city.”

Edward suddenly looks at Oswald, sees his reflection in Oswald’s sunglasses as he eyes Edward curiously.

“I have an idea—stop at Gotham General on the way. I’ve thought of a disguise for you.”

*

“This is humiliating.”

Edward is pushing him inside a motel about twenty miles outside the Gotham City limits – in a wheelchair. As they enter the building that’s perpetually stuck in the 50’s, Oswald stares around at everything as though he hates it, which given the current situation, isn’t difficult. 

“Hello sir!” says the elderly lady behind the reception desk, eyeing Edward’s mask and bowler hat. “You look very dapper.” 

Oswald can feel Edward preening, which is odd—the fact he’s still deeply attuned to Edward’s behaviour. He doesn’t even need to look. But then the lady adds, “are you going to a costume party?”

Oswald fails to hold in a snort. He can imagine the murderous look Edward is currently giving her, and he laughs. 

“Yes we are!” Edward replies, his voice overly chipper. “My friend here is going as Ebenezer Scrooge.”

Edward’s attempt at insulting him for laughing just makes Oswald want to laugh even more, but he restrains himself. He tries to act the part instead and looks up at her through his sunglasses, giving the woman his best grumpy old man face. She looks a little uncertain and turns back to Edward. 

“We’d like a twin room for one night please.” He hears Edward say after a short silence.

Edward sorts out all the details, and keys in hand, he pushes Oswald outside again and along the edge of the parking lot, until they find their room. 

Once inside, Oswald closes the curtains cautiously inspects the beds, claiming the one without an ink stain on the bottom corner of the duvet. Edward comes in a few moments later, having gotten their meagre belongings from the car, mostly things they picked up on the way, toiletries, pyjamas and so on. It’s only mid-afternoon, but Oswald already feels like he could sleep. It doesn’t do his leg any good to run on it, and it is throbbing more unpleasantly than usual. Edward approaches his bed and places a neat pile of the items they’d purchased for Oswald beside him. 

“Thank you.”

Edward simply nods, picking up his own items and heading into the bathroom. 

“I’m going to take a shower, and then I’ll see about getting us some take-out after.” Edward says, his voice echoing slightly off the bathroom walls. 

“All right,” Oswald responds, toeing off his shoes and leaning back on the bed. He tries not to think about how much has gone spectacularly wrong in the last few weeks as he nestles his head on the pillow. He hears the rickety bathroom door close and the shower come on, and turns his head to glance in Edward’s direction. Too late he realises the door is only lined frosted glass, a 70s relic, and he sees Edward’s naked outline as he steps into the shower. Oswald looks away as though burned, turning on his side and facing the other way. He closes his eyes, refusing to think about it, and is eventually lulled to sleep by the soothing sound of the shower. 

*

Oswald wakes up to the smell of food, which in turn makes his stomach rumble. He belatedly realises he hasn’t eaten since he was in Arkham, and that he is _ravenous_. He blearily looks around trying to locate the source of the food.

“Down here,” Edward says. 

Oswald sits up fully and sees Edward with what looks like a full buffet of food on the floor between the beds. Oswald carefully climbs down to sit on the floor, his back to his bed. 

As soon as he’s (relatively) comfortable, Edward hands him a plastic cup, which, upon inspection, seems to be filled with wine. 

“It’s not a royal feast, but needs must.” Edward says. 

“Thank you, all the same.”

Edward almost smiles. He lifts his own cup and says, “to killing Sofia Falcone.”

“I will most certainly drink to that.”

They start to dig in, and it seems to be Chinese food. They haven’t eaten like this since…since Edward saved Oswald’s life. The memory makes Oswald momentarily uncomfortable. It wasn’t _this_ Edward who did that.

They eat in silence for a while, until the immediate hunger has been satiated.

“So, are you going to tell me what happened at Jim’s apartment?”

Edward looks up from his noodles briefly before turning his attention back to the food. “What do you mean?”

“When you saw Hatter and Scarecrow, you froze. Also, I’d like to know why they’re not still in Arkham, and why they’re after us.”

“I didn’t freeze.” Edward says, still not looking at him. “I orchestrated your escape with Jervis Tetch, who is working with Jonathan Crane. We distracted the staff and created chaos. I had intended to go with them meet you and Zsasz so we could leave together. On the way, I became distracted, and they deserted. Sofia obviously managed to catch them and set them onto us.”

There is _a lot_ that Edward isn’t telling him. The fact he’s hiding it just makes Oswald want to know even more. 

“Distracted?”

Edward is becoming increasingly uncomfortable, and Oswald wonders if he’ll tell him just to shut him up.

“Crane sprayed me in the face with his fear toxin. It put me out of action for a short time.”

“I’ve heard about that,” Oswald says thoughtfully. “Makes you see your ‘worst fears’. What did you see?”

“I don’t wish to discuss it.”

“Oh come on, Ed, it can’t have been that bad.”

“I said _drop it_!”

Oswald is stunned into silence by Edward’s fury. He’s never had that turned on him before, as his chief of staff he was always so gentle and kind. Edward grew upset that day before he gave Oswald his notice, but he hadn’t been angry, not like this. The violent rage that burns behind Edward’s eyes now is entirely new. 

They sit quietly, each of them giving their full attention to the food. When Oswald can’t eat anymore, he doesn’t know what to do. They were supposed to discuss strategy, but he feels as though Edward is so tightly wound now that he’s like a ticking time bomb. It’s going to greatly impede their working relationship if Oswald feels like he has to tip-toe around this new Edward. 

As if reading his thoughts, Edward puts his cup of wine down and sighs. “I saw you.”

“Me?” Oswald says unsure how to take that. “ _I’m_ your worst fear? Well, that’s…flattering.” He gives a self-deprecating chuckle.

“No. I saw you die. Three times. I either killed you, or failed to save you.”

Why on earth would that be Edward’s worst fear?

_Oh _.__

__Sofia had said Edward was in love with him too, hadn’t she? But she had been talking about Edward, and not the Riddler._ _

__But Edward had already become him by the time he was exposed to Scarecrow’s fear toxin. Which can only mean that whoever Edward is now, he still feels the same way about Oswald. He looks over at Edward, who is breathing audibly through his nose, lips pursed, avoiding his gaze. It’s the first time he has been able to look at him while knowing that Edward is in love with him. Of course it would turn out this way, his feelings only reciprocated when everything is different. Too different. When it’s too late. He tries to see Edward, _his_ Edward, desperately wants to love the man in front of him. But he can’t. He looks away._ _

__Almost as soon as Oswald looks away, Edward begins gathering the cartons and containers. He’d been waiting, Oswald realises. Edward had told Oswald something deeply personal and traumatic, had essentially told Oswald he _loved_ him, and Oswald had said nothing. _ _

__What is there to say?_ _

__He can only think of one thing._ _

__“Thank you. These past weeks haven’t been easy for either of us. But thank you for saving me. With everything that’s happened, with Sofia…trust is very difficult for me now. But I trust you.”_ _

__Edward finishes throwing the remains of their dinner in the trash and comes back to perch on the edge of his bed. They regard each other, and the level of understanding that passes between them is somehow just like it used to be, yet completely different. Their relationship is slowly evolving, adapting, like it always has, Oswald realises. As he looks up at Edward, it strikes him as being like a caterpillar finally morphing into a beautiful butterfly._ _

__The mayor’s office was not the pinnacle of their friendship, he sees that now._ _

__Edward had given up who he was to save Oswald. Ever since he’d realised Sofia’s play, he hadn’t stopped trying to rescue Oswald. He’d gone through an enormous personal transition, literally faced his worst fears and risked his own life – and all of it for Oswald. And when they were finally reunited, instead of thanking him, Oswald rejected him. At every turn, Oswald underappreciated Edward, let him down. He hadn’t believed him about Sofia’s intentions, and they both paid the price._ _

__Whatever fate has in store for them now, Oswald knows with absolute certainty that Penguin and the Riddler will be a more unstoppable team than they ever were as mayor and chief of staff. They have nothing in their arsenal but their combined intellect, and they’ll have to start from scratch with their plan to fight back. He _knows_ they can do it, and that thought fills him with an eager, ruthless fire. _ _

__Oswald smiles and hopes Edward understands. He always seems to._ _

_Acceptance._

__Edward grins back. “Shall we begin?”_ _


	6. What's the Difference Between a Man and a Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penguin and the Riddler set their plan in motion.

Oswald cracks open an eye, finding that it’s still dark in the motel room. By the garish orange light of the lamp outside he can read the time on the clock as five-thirty. Given his nap the previous afternoon, he didn’t need much sleep, and he certainly feels wide awake now. He sits up and looks across at Ed.

Oswald had no idea what Edward looked like sleeping in a bed prior to this moment. When he had stayed at Edward’s old apartment, he’d insisted on sleeping on the couch despite how grossly inadequate it was both in size and comfort. The single bed Edward is sleeping in now is also definitely inadequate in size—it looks as though more of his limbs are outside the covers than under them, his knees hanging over the edge of the mattress. He has one arm bent over his head on the pillow, the other hanging over the edge of the mattress. He seems to have kicked away the sheets because most of his legs are on display. He isn’t wearing pyjamas like Oswald is, just a simple t-shirt and boxers. As his eyes travel over the length of him, he thinks about the fact that if he’d been able to return Edward’s love, he likely would have been allowed to touch that skin. For the first time ever, Oswald could have touched someone intimately, and he’s curious to know what it would have felt like to be desired in such a way. To have his attentions wanted, welcomed. He came so close.

The headlights of a solitary passing car move over Ed’s body, jolting Oswald from his reverie. Realising he has been staring at Edward’s bare skin while the man is asleep and unaware, Oswald flushes and hastily looks away. 

He gets up as quietly as he can, cringing at the creak of the floorboards as he slips on his coat and steps outside, shutting the door gently. Heaving a sigh of relief, he sits down on the deck and leans his back against the wall, wishing not for the first time in recent days, that he had a cigarette.

The overcast sky is beginning to brighten very subtly—Oswald can tell it’s going to be a very gloomy day. There will be no sunshine for their new beginning. 

Moments later, the door opens and Edward steps out, now clad in trousers and a white shirt, seemingly anxious to hide all his skin. Oswald can’t help but snicker when he sees that Edward has his mask on.

“What are you doing out here?” Edward asks.

“Relax Ed, I don’t think anyone is going to recognise us. There’s no one out here. There are no other cars parked. I think we might be the only people staying here right now.”

“Can’t be too careful.” Edward says, eyeing the ground beside Oswald, clearly wondering if it’s worth risking his suit to sit down.

It’s such an _Ed_ thing to say that Oswald smiles privately to himself. He wonders if _his_ Ed really is _entirely_ gone.

“I’m sorry if I woke you.” 

“It’s all right. I’m a light sleeper.”

They stare at each other for a few moments, and Oswald can tell Edward is very uncomfortable with the fact he’s sitting outside in full view of the highway. Oswald rolls his eyes and with Edward’s help, pulls himself to his feet. 

“Well, since we’re both awake we may as well get started,” Oswald says grumpily, following Edward back inside the dreary room. 

“Right you are,” Edward says, still sounding a little sleep-fogged. Oswald determinedly ignores the tugs on his heartstrings as he picks up his clothes and heads into the bathroom to take a shower. 

*

Once they’re both showered and dressed, Edward makes them coffee with the dated filter machine and turns on the TV so they can catch the news before they leave.

Oswald wrinkles his nose in disgust after the first sip, and looks at Edward, who is perched on the edge of his own bed, wearing a matching look of revulsion. Oswald raises his eyebrows, smiles and tries his best not to sound sardonic when he says, “another reason to kill Sofia.”

Edward nods grimly before snapping his head up at the mention of Oswald’s name on the TV. 

“ _Former mayor, Oswald Cobblepot is still missing following his abduction from Arkham Asylum on Friday. Police believe the captor may be holding Mr. Cobblepot for ransom and have released a description of the man wanted in connection with his alleged kidnapping. He goes by the alias ‘The Riddler’ and is believed to be over six foot with dark hair, and was last seen wearing a green and purple suit and a domino mask. If you see this man, police advise citizens not to approach as he is considered to be extremely dangerous.” Edward smiles at that, evidently pleased at his emerging reputation. “The number to call if you see the Riddler is on the screen below_ …”

The reporter moves onto another news story and Edward gets up to turn off the TV. They sit in silence for a few moments. It’s nothing they hadn’t anticipated, in fact it’s exactly what they’d thought Sofia would do--spin it so that Oswald’s imminent danger made the search for him so much more urgent, and by default making it harder for them to hide. It’s the first move they’ve managed to predict correctly, not that this makes Oswald feel any better. It just confirms that moving within Gotham City is going to be even more difficult now.

It’s Oswald who breaks the silence, this time not bothering to keep the sardonicism out of his voice.

“Well it looks like I’m no longer the more conspicuous one out of the two of us.”

*

They pack up the car in silence, the mood between them one of purposeful calm. Before they leave the motel room, Oswald casts one long last look around it. This was the place where everything changed, where they became Penguin and the Riddler. This musty, dirty place with its 70s décor and its smell of stale smoke. It’s hard to believe it played host to something Oswald doesn’t doubt will become one of the most important events in the history of Gotham City. And it is a place that is not even within the city limits. As he closes the door, he feels melancholic, but with an edge of anticipation. It’s as though he’s closing the door on the way things used to be, when they were simply Edward Nygma and Oswald Cobblepot. 

Edward’s old damaged glasses lay wrapped in tissue in the trash can. Oswald didn’t see the point in keeping them anymore—he needed to move on and follow through with his acceptance of who Edward is now. This room contains the last remnants of their past, and the ghost of their once warm friendship lingers within its walls.

_And once again you’re the city’s hero._

_But you were almost killed._

_And you saved me. Again._

Oswald pulls the door shut, letting everything go, like snow melt into a rushing river. He puts on his sunglasses and pulls his coat tighter around himself against the early morning chill, relishing the warmth of the fur around the collar. He turns around and sees Edward leaning against the driver’s side of the car, one leg bent, arms folded, eyeing Oswald expectantly through his mask. His suit shines in the veiled dawn light. He has completely reinvented himself, and Oswald can’t help but admire that. He has a profound respect for anyone who can rise from the ashes in such a spectacular fashion.

“Ready?” Edward asks.

“Can I drive?” Oswald responds. He has a sudden powerful urge to take control.

“By all means,” Edward says, heading around to the other side of the car.

Since it’s early, they haven’t bothered with the wheelchair charade. Oswald gets into the driver’s side and makes himself comfortable. 

He starts the ignition and they share a significant look, before Oswald puts his foot down and they leave the motel in a cloud of dust and grit.

*

After a short silent drive, they both agree some form of nourishment is necessary and Edward directs Oswald to a drive-through on the outskirts of the city, so they don’t have to go through the bother of utilising Oswald’s disguise. 

When Oswald pulls the car up to the menu board he realises he doesn’t actually know how the process works—he’s never been to a drive-through before. He purses his lips and looks at Edward, who stares back confusedly. 

“You know what you want to order?” 

“Yes, but how do I order?”

Edward looks at him incredulously. “You’ve never done this before?”

“No! Why would I need to when I’m always in the middle of the city?” Oswald answers defensively.

“Okay,” Edward says, and Oswald can see a clear hint of amusement in his eyes. “Just pull up to that speaker over there. What do you want?”

Oswald tells him and Edward leans across him to roll down the window. He orders for them both and then leans back in his seat, fishing in his jacket pocket for money. Oswald freezes—the smell of Edward’s hair products and cologne linger and Oswald shifts minutely in his seat as they join the queue for the service window. 

“Was that really necessary?” Oswald asks, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and looking resolutely straight ahead.

“I thought it would be more efficient. And now you know how to use a drive-through.”

Oswald glances at Edward, whose face is blank as he counts his money. He doesn’t seem to have noticed Oswald’s discomfort and he sighs in relief—small mercies, he supposes. 

He eventually pulls up to the window, and an overly cheerful server informs them how much it costs. Instead of leaning over him again, Edward drops the bills and coins into Oswald’s waiting cupped hands, who in turn hands it to the server. The girl looks at him strangely.

“You look familiar, sir—have I seen you on TV?”

“Well of course you have! I’m the Mayor of Gotham.” Oswald sees Edward turn sharply to face him in the corner of his eye, noting the movement with some satisfaction. He doesn’t like that Edward’s recent close proximity has him so on edge. The girl in the window stares aghast for a few moments, before Oswald bursts out laughing. Understanding and relief comes into her eyes as she realises the joke. She hands him their food and drinks and says, “very funny sir—have a great day!”

Oswald smirks as he hands the items to Edward and drives them over to a parking space so they can eat.

Edward hands Oswald his coffee and breakfast once Oswald’s parked the car, and they tuck in. 

“That was risky,” Edward comments after his first sip of coffee.

“Yes well, I’ve often found the truth of my life is so surreal that no one ever believes it. I mean who would expect to see the Mayor of Gotham at a drive-through, much less ordering for himself?”

“I ordered for you.” Edward says, before taking a bite of his wrap. 

“Which I didn’t ask you to do—but that’s beside the point. I would never have been seen dead at a place like this before.” His opinion of this type of restaurant isn’t softened when he takes a bite of his bagel. It tastes like cardboard. Oh, how he misses breakfasts at the mansion.

Edward murmurs noncommittally as he finishes his wrap. He dabs at his mouth with a napkin then puts the paper wrapper back in the bag, before sitting back in his seat with his coffee. When he’s finished his own breakfast, Oswald turns slightly in his seat so he can look at Edward, who’s staring in the direction of the Gotham highway.

“How did you come up with it?” Oswald asks, uncertain as to whether he’ll get an answer, or even if they can talk about things other than their plan for revenge. 

“The Riddler?” Edward asks, and Oswald nods. Edward doesn’t turn to face him. “You gave it to me.”

“I did?”

“Yes. In a manner of speaking. You visited me in my sleep.”

Edward blinks several times as he says the last sentence, and Oswald can read the deception. But if Edward doesn’t want to tell him the full story, Oswald isn’t going to push him. 

“Well, I like it.” Oswald says, and Edward finally turns to look at him. “And this.” Oswald gestures to his clothing, and the mask. “It’s so…Gotham.”

Edward chuckles, and Oswald smiles. For the most part, this new Edward has maintained a serious, shut-off, business-only countenance. Oswald wonders if it’s at least partly because of his initial rejection. His skin prickles with shame at the thought of it. He wants to earn Edward’s trust again, wants to prove he can be counted on, the way Edward once said Oswald could always count on him.

“What was it like?” Edward says, unexpectedly, interrupting Oswald’s thoughts. 

“Hmm?” Oswald murmurs as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“With Sofia. After I left.”

Oswald looks down at the cup he’s holding on his leg. “I don’t know what I would have done if Victor hadn’t been able to tell me what had happened.” The thought of what happened right outside the mansion under Oswald’s very nose is another source of shame for him. “I’m sorry for what they did to you.”

Edward nods, also looking down at his lap.

“I was on the precipice of madness, even before I thought I’d seen her kill you right in front of me. But I managed to regain some semblance of myself after I’d spoken to Victor. I had a clear purpose again, and I continued to act in the same manner I had prior to my new knowledge.” Oswald pauses for a few moments, gathering himself to recall the agony of his recent experiences. “My father told me that his own father suffered from dark thoughts and impulses, so severe that he ended his own life. He said that he thought I might understand what that was like—but I never did until after I thought you were dead. After the loss of my mother and father, losing you was too much. I didn’t care what happened to me anymore, whether I lived or died. Sofia played this whole thing almost expertly. She drove me into such an apathetic state of mind, I would have done whatever she told me, because nothing mattered anymore. The one thing she never really accounted for was your intelligence and value. She thought you were a nobody compared to me, and that I kept you around to satisfy my own vanity. She made the gross mistake of underestimating you.” Oswald can sense Edward’s eyes on him, but doesn’t dare to look. “So did I.”

Oswald isn’t sure what he expects Edward to say, but he imagines more than the resulting silence that stretches out between them. When minutes pass and Edward still says nothing, Oswald clears his throat and throws the trash in the back so it’s not blocking the gear stick. 

“Shall we go?”

Edward gives a simple nod, and Oswald nods firmly in return, both to Ed and himself, as he starts the engine. 

*

They only stop one more time before heading into the city, so that Ed can steal a big dark overcoat and some sunglasses, since everyone is now looking for a masked man in green. He doesn’t want to risk paying legitimately at the counter. While Edward pretends to be trying on a coat and eyes himself in the mirror (though he is of course discreetly removing the tags that will set off the alarms), Oswald spies something that he himself wants to steal. He reaches up from his wheelchair, takes off the tag and tucks the item under his coat. 

They both stroll out of the store without incident, that is until they get closer to the car and a security guard shouts, “hey!” Oswald throws himself out of the wheelchair and they both hastily jump into the car, abandoning it. They won’t be needing the wheelchair anymore. With a screech of tyres, they leave the parking lot and get back on the highway, finally bound for Gotham City.

*

When they reach their destination, Edward pulls up his collar and adjusts his sunglasses, checking his reflection in the wing mirror. 

“Before we go in, I have something I wanted to give you.” Oswald feels under his coat for the item he stole. 

Edward turns to look at him curiously. 

“Ever since I saw your new signature outfit, I’ve felt that something was missing.” Oswald produces a bowler hat from under his coat. It’s black with a green bond around it. 

Edward gasps theatrically as it’s handed to him, before giving Oswald a big smile. Oswald’s heart beats just a little bit faster.

Edward places the hat on his head with both hands, before holding them out in a “ta-dah” pose. 

“It suits you very well. As I knew it would,” Oswald says, pleased. He doesn’t voice the fact that at this moment, he looks like something out of a 60s spy movie.

“Thank you,” Edward breathes as he once again looks in the mirror. They exchange small smiles, before simultaneously getting out of the car.

They retrieve two duffel bags from the trunk and take one each. Oswald feels for his gun and notices Edward do the same. They stand there facing each other in silence, neither of them knowing how to sign off. It’s silly really, they’ll see each other again shortly. But it will mark the first time they’ve been separated since they were reunited at the empty apartment across from Edward’s old one. It was only days ago, but Oswald feels a little panic at the thought of losing the man he has already lost once. He needs Edward to be alive in the world.

“I’ll see you up there,” Oswald offers. 

Edward simply nods at him again, having been quiet ever since Oswald’s speech in the car, and leaves. Oswald watches his retreating back for a few moments, before limping over to the entrance of the building pressing the buzzer next to the door.

“Hi, it’s Jim Gordon from apartment twenty and I seem to have forgotten my keys, would you mind buzzing me in please?”

The person, who must be extraordinarily stupid to let someone they don’t know into the building, especially in a city like Gotham, says “sure” and lets him in. He hurries over to the elevator and takes it up to Jim’s floor, amazed it even works in such a run-down building.

He pauses at the door to listen, and just as he and Edward had thought, Hatter and Scarecrow are inside, having made Jim’s apartment their base of operations. 

Oswald crouches and prepares to pick the lock, before seeing that the door is _already open_. The idiocy of these two astounds him, and he stands up, takes a deep breath and opens the door as quietly as he can. He creeps down the hallway to the other end of the apartment, where he can hear the two men talking in the kitchen. He peers around the door frame and neither of them even glances up, so deep are they in conversation. Oswald inwardly sighs—these must be the two most hopeless villains in Gotham. 

“Gentlemen, I hate to interrupt—”

Hatter, who has his back to Oswald, starts so hard he almost falls out of his chair. He turns around with a look of horror. Scarecrow also jumps to his feet, his chair screeching backwards. 

Oswald takes off his sunglasses, tilts his head and smiles jovially. “Mr Tetch. Remember me?”

“Mr Cobblepot,” Tetch says, polite as ever despite the fear in his eyes. “To what do we owe—”

Oswald’s smile disappears as he retrieves his gun from his belt and in a lightning quick movement, knocks Tetch out with the butt of it. As he crumples to the floor, Crane makes a run for it towards the door to the fire escape. At that moment, Edward bursts through the door, mask back on his face, blocking Crane’s exit. Edward points his gun at him, who looks between Edward and Oswald, slowly raising his hands in surrender. The look in Edward’s eyes as he stares at Crane is one of unadulterated fury. Oswald knows without question that Edward would kill Crane right here if they didn’t need him alive. Edward’s experiences after exposure to fear toxin have scarred him deeply. The hand holding the gun is trembling, and Oswald starts feeling worried that Edward might ignore their plan and kill him anyway. 

“Riddler?” Oswald says, trying to keep worry and impatience out of his voice. “We’re kind of on the clock here…”

Edward’s nostrils flare—the only sign he even heard Oswald speak—before delivering a full body swing with his fist that strikes the side of Crane’s head. He’s out cold before he hits the ground.

Oswald eyes the two men on the floor, somewhat lost for words. “Well.” He looks back up at Edward, who is still looking at Crane angrily, chest heaving. Oswald’s mouth goes dry. “You certainly put paid to him!” He inwardly cringes at how loud his voice sounds in the silence. _Too much_. 

“I’ll get the chairs, you get the rope.” Oswald hopes this will jolt Edward into action, but he’s fixated on Crane, and looks almost as though he’s reliving what happened to him. Oswald swallows and takes a hesitant step closer, hands raised in a placating manner, as though he’s approaching a wild animal.

“Ed, remember our little project?” Oswald gently lays his hands on the arm Edward has folded across his front. “As soon as we have these two morons tied up we can make a start on it. I know that will cheer you up.”

Edward’s breathing eventually seems to slow down, and he manages to wrench his gaze away from Crane. He glances at Oswald’s gloved hands where they’re touching him, before looking searchingly at his face. Oswald wonders what he’s looking for, and tries to school his face into something reassuring. He squeezes Edward’s arm gently before he takes his hands away, not wanting to go too far and upset Edward further. 

“Of course,” Edward says distractedly. “There’s just one thing I have to do first.” 

He side steps Oswald, bends down beside Crane and starts searching his bizarre robes. Oswald guesses immediately what he’s looking for. After a couple of moments searching he lifts a small perfume bottle with an ominous looking yellow liquid sloshing around inside. It doesn’t escape Oswald’s notice that Edward’s hand is shaking. 

“Good thinking!” Oswald proclaims. “We could always use it—”

Oswald cuts himself off when Edward, holding the bottle away from himself, crosses the room to the sink. “Stand back, Oswald.”

He puts his gun on the counter and unscrews the top, placing it delicately to one side. He then grabs a kitchen towel and holds it tightly to his nose as he pours the liquid down the sink. Oswald watches aghast as Edward runs the tap to ensure the liquid is gone. It would have been a valuable weapon to use in their war against Sofia. Although he is somewhat frustrated, Oswald supposes he has to respect Edward’s decision. Even if he’s alarmed at how extreme Edward’s reaction to Crane and his concoction is—it’s illogical to get rid of such a valuable weapon in a war where they have so little in their arsenal. And illogical is not a word that can usually be used to describe Edward or The Riddler. 

It sits more than a little uncomfortably with him it’s the fact he saw _Oswald_ that has him so deeply affected. 

Edward throws the bottle pieces in the trash before thoroughly washing his hands. He then turns to Oswald, that fury back in his eyes. “When this is over, I get to kill Crane.” He doesn’t wait for a response before striding past him to Oswald’s duffle bag to retrieve the ropes. Oswald opens and closes his mouth before going to move two of the spindly kitchen table chairs, ready to heft the limp bodies of their captives onto.

*

Once Tetch and Crane are tied securely to chairs, they set up the spare bedroom so that no clue as to the location can be seen in the video they are about to make. A single chair sits in the centre of the room, the tiny table that had been the only piece of furniture in the depressing little room having been moved out of it. Oswald apprehensively takes his place on the chair, having changed back into his Arkham jumpsuit. They had planned every little detail, deciding that as the Riddler’s hostage, it wouldn’t make sense for him to have fine new clothes. Edward had apologised profusely and Oswald had waved it off. It’s all part of the illusion. 

The scratch of the fabric on his skin really is awful, and it somehow manages to smell of decay and despair, the putrid smell coming off in waves. The memories associated with it are deeply distressing for Oswald, and he can’t wait to take it off again and burn it. After this he will never wear those stripes again. A grim feeling of foreboding comes over him even as he thinks it.

Edward begins to wind ropes around Oswald, and he tries to bear it as best he can. The amount of trust he’s placing in Edward is truly monumental, and he can tell from the way that Edward keeps glancing at him that he’s well aware of it. 

Edward tugs on the ropes to tighten them and Oswald grimaces as a gasp is forced out of him. 

“I’m sorry Oswald, but it has to be tight to be believable. Every detail of this is going to be scrutinised.” 

“I know,” Oswald says, determinedly not meeting his eyes. Even though all of this is an act, it’s still a deplorable situation in which to find himself again. First he was Sofia’s prisoner, then he was in Arkham, and even now he’s supposedly free, he still feels like a captive. It’s a simulation that’s all part of their plan, but even so, he doesn’t like how powerless it makes him feel. 

“I’ll try and get this over with as quickly as possible,” Edward says, moving towards the recorder. “Are you ready?”

Oswald nods his assent, closing his eyes, taking a deep breath and mentally preparing himself. 

“Okay. Here we go.” And Edward presses record, and stands in front of Oswald.

“Greetings, Mayor Falcone! I’m sure that by this point you have heard of me—I’m the _Riddler_!” With his thumb and forefingers pressed together he spreads his arms theatrically and tips his hat. His voice is a slightly higher pitch than normal, because of course Sofia knows what Edward sounds like. “And I’m also sure you’ve guessed what I want from you.” He steps to one side to reveal Oswald. “It’s simple really. You will meet me at the place of my choosing, and in exchange for our unfortunate former mayor here, you will give me five hundred thousand dollars.” Edward prowls around Oswald, retrieving his gun from his belt, crouching at Oswald’s side and stroking the barrel along his face. Oswald doesn’t have to pretend at fear, and he trembles, even though he knows the gun isn’t loaded. 

“You see…He told me a _very_ interesting story,” Edward continues. “A story I imagine you don’t want reaching the wrong ears…like say those of the Gotham Gazette, or Channel Nine News.” Edward laughs mockingly. “If you comply both Mr. Cobblepot and my silence will be yours.”

“If you don’t…” Edward slides his free hand around Oswald’s neck and lightly squeezes. Oswald’s eyes start to water. “Well you wouldn’t want the people of Gotham to think their beloved Mayor Cobblepot was murdered when you could have saved him, would you?” Tears streak down Oswald’s cheeks. It has never been very difficult for him to cry.

Edward approaches the camera, close enough that he can reach the stop button. “Thursday night, dock 9C, eight o’clock. Before you try to outsmart me remember that I’m the Riddler and _you’re no match for me!_ ” He yells the last part before stopping the recording. He immediately turns around, grabs his knife from his pocket and cuts through the ropes. 

Oswald sighs with relief, as his blood flows freely again, his circulation no longer cut off by the tightness of the binding. As soon as he feels he can stand up without falling, he does so, smiling up at Edward. The man beams back, clearly flying high on adrenaline.

“That was incredible…You are certainly very good at being a villain. What a commendable performance!” Oswald smiles in a way he hopes is convincing. “I hope there’s alcohol in this hell-hole,” he adds as he leaves the room and heads towards the kitchen. He notices Edward’s smile wavering as he moves past him.

When he gets to the kitchen counter, he is relieved to note that Edward hasn’t followed him—he needs a moment, and is glad that Edward seems to understand. He leans both hands on the countertop and takes deep breaths. He has been through a lot in the last couple of weeks, and he hasn’t really had any time to stop and process it all. He knows that it’s all beginning to catch up with him, but he has no choice but to push through it and focus on his hatred of Sofia Falcone. No use crying over spilt milk, as his mother would say. 

He locates a whiskey glass and a bottle in one of the lower cabinets, and pours himself a generous amount. It’s not a nicely aged whiskey like the types he has become accustomed to, but it will do. It does wonders settling his nerves. Two or three more of these and he’ll feel something like himself again. 

Looking down, he realises he’s still in the jumpsuit, and he can’t bear to wear it a moment longer. It’s imperative that he thoroughly scrub the stench of Arkham Asylum from his body. He puts down the glass, grabs his duffle bag and goes into the bathroom to shower and change. For a while, he lets the blistering shower water drown out the loud volume of his thoughts.

*

When he emerges, he finds Edward sitting at the kitchen table, nonchalantly flicking through the pages of a novel, with far too much speed to actually be reading it. When he fully steps into the kitchen again, he understands why. Tetch and Crane have been dragged across the room to sit across the table from Edward. Crane’s head is still hanging limply, but Tetch is wide awake and staring at Edward with a seething hatred. Edward is utterly nonplussed. 

“Am I late to the tea party?” Oswald asks, announcing his presence. Tetch looks up at him with as much hatred as he’d directed at Edward. 

“Ah, Oswald, please take a seat.” Edward beams at him. “Another drink?” 

There’s already a chair placed for him, along with a fresh whiskey glass. 

“Please,” Oswald says. Edward puts his book down and pours Oswald a large glass. 

Edward smiles conspiratorially. “Mr. Tetch here has been telling me all about how Miss Falcone set himself and Mr. Crane onto us. That, naturally, is the only reason they would do such a thing to their fellow criminals.”

“Naturally,” Oswald echoes. “And what prize did she offer you for our heads?”

“For Mr. Crane, a laboratory for his fear factory.”

Edward’s smug demeanour lessons somewhat at the reminder of fear toxin. Oswald instinctively wants to place his hand over Edward’s. 

“And what did she promise you?” Edward says, and Oswald knows it’s a distraction.

They already know the answer to this, or at least they have a very good guess, but they want to hear his confirmation. Tetch dithers with his answer and Edward reaches for his gun, which is sitting on the table top. Tetch jolts nervously.

“James Gordon.”

Oswald and Edward exchange a glance. 

“You do know how _ridiculous_ that is, don’t you?” Oswald states, incredulously. “She will never give you Jim Gordon. She needs a powerful inside agent. It would not surprise me if she was preparing to install him as captain so she can have complete control over the the GCPD. Allowing you to kill him would greatly undermine her plans. I guarantee that she does not intend to follow through on her promise to you, Mr. Tetch.”

Tetch looks from Oswald to Edward, bewildered and dismayed. Oswald thinks he looks like a trapped rat. Edward nods his confirmation of Oswald’s words.

“If she’s lying to you, she’s likely lying to him too.” Edward gestures to Crane, who is starting to move and groan. “She would probably have you both killed the second she got what she wanted. She’s a master manipulator, and she only cares about the powerful people who can help her acquire more influence—not disposable lackeys, like yourselves.”

“What we propose instead is that you work with us,” Oswald says, every word carefully selected and practiced.

“Sofia’s days as Queen of Gotham are numbered. This city belongs to _us_. In the Gotham that Oswald and I will run, both of you will have your place.”

Oswald looks at Edward, not changing his expression, but secretly scrutinizing the man. This was not a part of their agreed speech, and they had certainly never discussed what they would do once their goal of killing Sofia was accomplished. Oswald wonders if Edward is even aware of what he’s suggesting—their continued close association was not something that Oswald thought Edward wanted. He had assumed they would go their separate ways. 

“I want Jim Gordon dead just as much as you do. I tried to be a friend and an ally to him, and he betrayed me. He killed Galavan, and he let me go to Arkham for it. I will personally give him to you and enjoy watching you kill him.”

All three of them are looking at him now, and he knows he has won over Tetch. Crane stays silent. Oswald rarely talks about how Jim has continually let him down, despite the numerous chances Oswald has given him. He keeps his feelings about Jim close to his chest.

“And you, Mr. Crane, you will have anything you desire, of course. So, what do you say, will you work with us?” Edward asks, knowing addressing Crane directly will wield a hefty amount of power, considering what Crane did to him. It shows he’s willing to put aside his personal feelings, for their greater goal. Crane doesn’t need to know that Edward is planning to kill him anyway.

“The Falcone name is fading.” Oswald says, driving their pitch home. “It has had its day. The future of Gotham belongs to outsiders like us. And we’re not stopping with the four of us. We are going to recruit others like us to our cause, and we’ll carve up this city and make it ours.”

Tetch and Crane glance at each other, and Crane gives a very small nod. Oswald and Edward grin at each other jubilantly. The first part of their plan has just fallen into place.

*

Their first task for the disaster duo is to deliver the tape to Sofia, along with the report that the tape was left at their hideout (they don’t want to bring attention to Jim’s apartment, on the off-chance she sends people to investigate) and that they had seen neither the Riddler or Oswald. They watch Tetch and Crane disappear into the night from the fire escape, before turning to look at each other. Edward smiles in a way that can only be called victorious.

“Gotham will be ours in no time,” Edward says assuredly, as he leans on the railing. “We’ll soon be setting things to rights.” He looks away and surveys the lights of the city rising around them, his countenance very self-satisfied.

Oswald opens his mouth to question the concept of “ours” but thinks the better of it and closes it again. Unfortunately, Edward glances at him, having caught the movement in the corner of his eye.

“What is it?”

He doesn’t want more lies between them, and even though he’s incredibly wary of angering the Riddler, he decides the truth is the best way forward.

“I’ve noticed that you keep referring to us running Gotham together. I thought we had agreed our association only went as far as killing Sofia?”

Edward frowns. “Well yes, _officially_. But don’t you think it just makes sense? We’re _‘Penguin and the Riddler’_.” Edward draws himself up to his full height and spreads his arms wide, thumbs and forefingers out, as if to indicate their names in lights. “There is nothing more powerful than the two of us together.”

“I have no doubt that you’re right,” Oswald agrees. “But I think once this is done we need to go our separate ways.”

Edward’s face falls. 

“I’ve come to the conclusion that I no longer want to be mayor.” Oswald continues. While he’d not given the subject any specific thought, he knows it to be true as he says it. “I know that once people find out what Sofia has done, I would get the sympathy vote, and everything could go back to the way it was. Except it can’t. You’ve become someone else… and so have I.”

He pauses to give Edward time to respond but he simply goes back to leaning on the railing. Oswald moves slightly closer, laying a hand on the railing and standing sideways on, facing Edward.

“You’re not meant to be a sidekick, Ed, and you know as well as I do that you can’t go back to being my second in command. I think you need some time to figure out who you are without me.”

“But everything that happened to me, it happened because of you,” Edward finally says. “What happens when you take that away? What if there’s nothing left?”

Oswald can see how hard it is to voice these insecurities for Edward, can read the pain on his face, hear the rawness of his voice. Oswald gently touches his shoulder.

“You’re the smartest man in this city, Edward Nygma. And I’m going to enjoy watching as you set it on fire.”

Ed smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I suppose that by saying we’d run Gotham together, I was just trying to hold onto you for a little bit longer.”

Oswald subconsciously smooths his thumb back and forth over Edward’s shoulder, even has his heart aches. “I hope I can always call you an ally, Ed.”

“Of course,” Edward responds without hesitation, as he turns back to Oswald, his face more masked than it is when he’s wearing one. He wonders if it would be appropriate to hug Edward, or even if affection would be welcomed. He’s spared having to choose when Edward simply heads back into the apartment.

As soon as they step into the apartment with its lurid fluorescent lights, the spell is broken. The welcoming embrace of the night is a harsh contrast with the garish hopelessness of Jim’s place. 

“I suppose we should get some sleep since we won’t have much opportunity for it over the next two days.” Oswald states, trying not to punctuate the sentence with a yawn. It has been an exhausting day. 

“Yes, I think that would be wise. Should I take the couch?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, we can share the bed. I’m going to need to change the sheets though. Are we sure Jim won’t come back here tonight?”

“Tetch seemed pretty sure when I asked him while you were in the shower. Said he’d overheard the security arranging to pick up Jim on the way back to the mansion from City Hall. He didn’t come back last night, so it seems she’s trying to minimise the number of places Jim can go outside the GCPD. I bet Tetch just came straight back here hoping Jim would show up so he could off him without having to do Sofia’s bidding.”

“Sounds about right,” Oswald agrees. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing if he _did_ show up. As long as _she’s_ not in tow. We’d need to adjust our plans a bit, but ultimately I think once he knew everything he would help us.”

“I wish I had your confidence in him,” Ed says, taking off his mask and putting it in his jacket pocket. Oswald himself often wonders why he still believes in Jim.

“I’m going to have a shower.” Edward mutters distractedly.

“All right, I’ll change the bed sheets while you do.”

Together they head down the hallway, but as they’re about to go into opposite rooms, they hear a key turn in the lock. Within seconds they have guns in their hands, pointed at the door. They don’t even glance at each other, so focused are they on what’s about to happen. 

The door swings open to reveal Jim, standing there alone, a bag of groceries under one arm. He jumps slightly when he sees them standing there, wide eyed like a deer in headlights.

“Oswald?” His eyes almost bug out of their sockets when he sees who is standing next to him. Oswald supposes Edward does look pretty good for a dead man. “ _Ed_?”

Oswald and Edward glance at each other before simultaneously lowering their guns. They look back at Jim, who still seems to be struggling to comprehend what he’s seeing.

“What the _hell_?”


	7. If You Wanna Start a Fight, You'd Better Throw The First Punch, Make it a Good One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward finally snaps and Oswald is forced to confront some truths.

For a few moments, Jim just slowly turns his beer bottle on the table (no coaster, Edward notes), and both Edward and Oswald eye his choice of beverage with matching looks of disgust. Jim takes a long swig before he finally speaks.

“I knew she was trying to control me. She didn’t want me to come back here alone tonight, but she couldn’t really force it without me getting suspicious.”

“So you believe us?” Oswald asks, and Edward _hates_ the hope both in his voice and in his eyes. It’s a look that says he still wants to be on good terms with him, even after the unimaginable horrors he has inflicted on Oswald. Edward’s rage quietly simmers. 

“I do. For one thing, the proof of your story is sitting right here.” Jim glances at Edward, and he glares back at him. He says nothing, but notices Oswald shoot him a pleading look. 

Edward knows he’s being difficult, but why should he have to make this easy for Jim? Oswald may be able to forgive and forget, but Edward can’t.

Oswald sighs and turns back to Jim. “And you won’t try to stop our plans?”

“I’ll go one better—I’ll help you.”

“You will?” There it is again, that pathetic faith in Jim Gordon. What makes the whole thing worse is that Jim must know the power he holds over Oswald, yet he continues to exploit him, with no intention of returning any favours. Why must Oswald continually degrade himself like this? Edward grits his teeth and clenches his fists.

“I have an idea, but it’s probably best if I don’t tell you. You should go about your plan exactly as you just said, just be prepared.”

“Well _that_ seems fair,” Edward says, finally breaking his silence. He fixes Jim with the most condescending look of disinterest he can muster, making a show of analysing his fingernails. Oswald looks at him exasperatedly, his patience clearly wearing thin.

“What I’m going to do isn’t exactly…ethical.” Jim concedes.

Edward snorts. “Shocking. But you see, the problem is, how can we be prepared if we don’t know what’s coming? How long as we supposed to give you before we fully _execute_ our own plan? I don’t like being in the dark Jim.”

“I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

Edward laughs obnoxiously. “Our entire history with you would suggest we do the opposite.”

Jim runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Look, I don’t want Sofia Falcone controlling Gotham. I don’t really want Oswald running the city either.” 

Oswald looks affronted at this statement and Edward bristles on his behalf.

“But at least he was legitimately mandated by the people. If Oswald doesn’t want to resume the office of mayor, then there should be a new and fair election. I have no reason to trick either of you—we both have the same goal here. If you work with me, you’ll be free to do whatever you want when this is over.” Jim leans forward into Edward’s personal space. His lip twitches at the proximity. “If you don’t, and you cause more bloodshed, then I’ll have no choice but to come after you.”

This is too much for Edward. He leaps out of his chair and grabs Jim by the lapels of his jacket and shoves him up against the refrigerator.

“She ruined _everything_ , Jim! She tried to kill me, and you just expect me to let her walk away with you? _Not. Good. Enough._ ”

Jim shoves Edward backwards with his superior strength, and he stumbles over the chair he had previous occupied. He pulls himself up to his full height and they both stand facing each other, two alpha males ready to battle.

Edward sees Oswald rolls his eyes in his peripheral vision. “Edward, a word?” He says, standing up and heading into the spare room. Edward follows him, not taking his eyes off Jim until he has to. Oswald closes the door behind them.

“Ed, I know this isn’t ideal.”

Edward begins pacing back and forth, extremely agitated. All this furious energy and nowhere to put it. He huffs angrily. 

“But if we go along with whatever he’s got planned now, we can just kill her later. I for one am tired of running and hiding. I want to be able to start a business without the interference of the GCPD.”

This is the first time Edward has ever heard Oswald speak about his plans for when their mission is over. He stops pacing and watches Oswald. He approaches Edward almost as one might approach a vicious animal. He doesn’t stop until their faces are mere inches apart. 

“She tortured me, Ed,” he says, in a gentle voice he’s only ever heard used privately with him. “I’ve never felt so lost and lonely in my life. If I can let her live for now, you should be able to as well.”

Edward keeps his mouth tightly closed, inhaling shakily through his nose. He wants to ask Oswald not to make him do this—Sofia took everything from him, including his only chance at happiness. He clenches his jaw as he thinks about how unfished things will be—because if he doesn’t kill her, what will all of it have been for? The only logical way to close the story is to make sure Sofia dies. To let her live…there’s no sense in it. No completion.

But it’s _Oswald_ that’s asking him, with his piercing eyes that go right through him and stir the Ed he was before. He sighs, and Oswald smiles, triumphant. 

At least he hasn’t ruled out killing her at a later date.

Oswald pats his shoulder, briefly squeezing it in that way of his, but it only makes Edward’s posture more rigid. If he doesn’t hold himself together tightly, he will break apart. Steam is already issuing through the fissures and cracks. 

They head back out to the kitchen, where Jim has just opened a new beer. Somehow even that manages to set Edward’s teeth on edge. 

“We are in agreement,” Oswald says, smiling at Jim cordially.

“Good,” Jim says standing up. He approaches them, fishing in his pocket for something. “I need a good night’s sleep in my own bed, which means you can’t stay here. This is the key to my safehouse.” He hands the key to Oswald and writes the address and door code on a notepad. He rips off the page and hands it to Edward, closing his palm over it and resting both his hands over it. He waits for Edward to meet his eyes.

“I should bust you right now.” He says it quietly and calmly but every word hits its intended target. “You should be grateful that I’m not.”

That is _it_. Edward rears back so he has enough space to throw a punch, but finds both his hands suddenly pinned to his back. Oswald is surprisingly strong. Jim smirks slightly, and Edward has never wanted to hit anyone so much in his life. 

“Thank you Jim. We’ll see you at the docks.” And with that Oswald manhandles Edward out onto the fire escape. 

Edward is so furious he could scream. He’s shaking with rage as they walk to the car. There’s a rumble of thunder in the distance, a satisfying actualisation of his feelings. 

“Give me the address,” Oswald says curtly, once they’re in the car. Edward hands it over, snatching his hand back after Oswald pries it from his fingers. They don’t speak for the rest of drive.

*

Once the video tape has been examined for explosives, poisons and other potentially life threatening materials, Sofia sits down alone in her office to watch it. 

As the demented man calling himself the Riddler prances about and makes his threats, Sofia’s nails start to make dents in her palms. Does this idiot really think he can summon a Falcone to the docks and into a situation which is so obviously a trap? There’s every chance this man is not even holding Oswald hostage at all, and is working _with_ him. Damn Oswald and his veritable and enviable network of allies across the city. 

Even harder to tell is the allegiance of Jervis Tetch and Jonathan Crane. They claim that they found the tape left for them at their hideout, the location of which they both refuse to disclose. She has only their word. It’s quite possible the Riddler himself delivered the tape. And what if he had persuaded them to align with their cause? Or more likely, what if they are attempting to play double agent? Either way, she cannot trust them, or anyone. 

Sofia will have to be very careful about her next moves. If Oswald somehow manages to leak his story, there could be trouble. There’s nothing to say that people will actually believe him, given the fact he had been committed to Arkham, and the fact that Sofia’s approval ratings are sky high, but there’s always a chance. Oswald Cobblepot is highly unpredictable, even more so with this lunatic on his arm. They both need to be put down before they can cause any real damage.

She slowly approaches the television set and crouches in front of it, careful of her crisp white pant suit. She starts the tape from the beginning again and narrows her eyes as she analyses all the details. Sofia tilts her head as she watches the Riddler up close, his face inches from hers. There’s something familiar about what she can see of the face, but she can’t put her finger on what it is. 

Sofia hits pause when the Riddler steps away and stops covering the entire shot, so she can analyse Oswald’s face. He does seem genuinely distressed, the tears pouring freely from his eyes. She can’t completely discount the possibility that this is exactly what it looks like, and that the Riddler does just want to get paid. But she also knows that Oswald is a good actor, skilled at getting people to believe what he wants them to. 

And just like that, she has an idea.

*

Unfortunately, when they locate the building which contains Jim’s safehouse, there aren’t any parking spaces available on the street outside. The rain is pelting down now, the storm in full flow, lightning almost directly overhead. The thunder is deafening. 

Oswald has to park a long way down the street, grumbling to himself at the inevitability of them getting soaked between the car and the building. He sits there for a moment, hands resting atop the wheel, as he looks at the water cascading in torrents down the windshield. It has been an incredibly long and exhausting day. 

Edward, still stubbornly rigid and silent, puts on his mask, and together they step out of the car. The water on the road is already high enough to cover their heels. 

They run down the street, their feet splashing in the puddles. There really is no use in trying to be quick, Oswald finds himself soaked through in moments. 

When they get to the building, Oswald punches in the memorised key code, hurriedly letting them both inside once the door beeps. Thankfully there’s an elevator, since the apartment is on the sixth floor. The atmosphere between them as they ascend is tense, both avoiding looking at each other, as they drip all over the floor. Edward is stubbornly staring downwards, which allows Oswald to look at him in the mirror and see the water running down his face from his hair. Though he’s wearing his mask, he can see Edward’s eyelashes clumped together, and it lends him the unusual appearance of being delicate and vulnerable. It stirs a protective ache in his heart.

Edward wordlessly follows him to the apartment, and Oswald locks and bolts the door behind them. They need to somehow deflate the tense atmosphere between them, so Oswald approaches Edward and gently puts a hand on his forearm. Edward inhales sharply and shrugs away Oswald’s touch violently. The feeling of hurt is rapidly overtaken by a wave of anger as Oswald finally snaps. 

“What is the _matter_ with you, Edward?”

Edward says nothing, just starts peeling off his sodden suit jacket. Saturated with water, it looks black instead of green.

“We’re going to need to talk you know,” Oswald says, reaching the limit of his patience. “We have a lot to do tomorrow, and we can’t do it like this. We have to work together. That is what we agreed.”

Edward suddenly rounds on him, and Oswald finds himself almost relieved that Edward isn’t going to carry on with his silence, even if it means enduring the impending explosion. 

“What do you want me to _say_ , Oswald? That I’m glad I don’t get to kill the woman who destroyed everything we built? That I’m oh-so-happy that you trust Jim without so much as batting an eyelid? That you have already betrayed both myself _and_ our plan?” His voice gets louder with every word. The apartment is cramped, and the atmosphere feels oppressive. His presence fills every shaft of light with his chaotic darkness. He can’t escape Edward like this. 

Oswald splutters, slack-jawed, groping for a response that doesn’t show how unsure he is of his ability to diffuse the situation. “I have never betrayed you, Edward! We’re adapting the plan to meet our current circumstances, but the goal remains the same. We will still kill Sofia, it just won’t be in two days’ time.”

Edward inhales loudly through his nose as he undoes the top buttons of his shirt and loosens his tie. He stands there staring at Oswald, still wearing his mask, his white shirt sticking to his skin, his perfectly tailored waistcoat looking mouth-wateringly good. _Focus_. He takes a deep breath.

“You know we will still kill her, so it’s not Sofia that’s bothering you. Well—it’s not the _main_ thing. So what is it?”

Edward starts absently rolling up his sleeves, completely unnecessary when they need to be changing into fresh dry clothes, rather than waste time getting comfortable in these sodden ones. 

“It’s just, _Jim_ can do no wrong. You are always so quick to forgive him—why? How can you just take him at his word without knowing what he’s planning?”

“It’s in our interest to keep the GCPD on our side—it’s called _diplomacy_? The old Ed would have known that, and understood its importance.”

With hindsight, that probably wasn’t the best thing to say to calm Edward down. He freezes, still fiddling with his sleeves, and lowers his arms. He comes a couple of steps closer. When he speaks, he sounds like the raging storm outside. 

“What _you_ did in there was not _diplomacy_. You were simpering and pathetic and you are no better than his lapdog.” 

White hot rage courses through his veins as lightning illuminates the apartment. When Oswald closes his eyes to gather himself, he sees Edward’s silhouette behind his eyelids. He closes the rest of the distance between them and forces himself to speak calmly.

“We have two more days, Ed. Two. More. Days. Then we never have to see each other again.”

Thunder crashes deafeningly outside, and it’s so startling that Oswald actually flinches. The lamp rattles on the chest of drawers in the hallway beside them. 

“Two more days until you can go running after Jim Gordon, begging him to take notice of you. You don’t _matter_ to him, Oswald.”

Oswald’s fists shake, he’s wound up so tightly that he seriously considers knocking Edward’s head against the wall. Even years later, Oswald doesn’t know what possessed him to say what comes out of his mouth next; it’s entirely unplanned and it shocks him as much as it shocks Edward. 

“You’re not _jealous_ are you, Ed?” Everything about the way he says it is goading, flirtatious, _dangerous_. He changes his posture so that he looks defiant. He doesn’t retract his words. 

There’s no sound apart from the pouring rain outside and their breathing. Oswald sees Edward’s fists unclench in his peripheral vision.

“ _Yes_.”

Several flashes of lightning in rapid succession make Edward’s movements freeze, each one an illumination of Ed getting closer to him. And then Edward is on him, the breath knocked out of Oswald as Edward shoves him against the wall; Oswald’s flailing hand knocks the lamp off the chest of draws. It smashes on the ground, merely collateral damage. In the next moment Edward’s lips are on his, stealing his breath away. 

It feels something like immense relief, having Edward’s skin on his, and he’s powerless to stop the long moan that leaves his lips. He knows nothing but Edward’s desperation as he pulls him in closer, their teeth clashing as they try to climb inside each other. The lightning is almost constant, and all Oswald can see in the aftermath of each blinding flash is red, pulsating blood red. He doesn’t dare open his eyes, for reality might set in. Oswald wants to let himself get carried away by the ferocity of Edward’s desire. 

But reality is insistent, and Oswald is an honest man, not one to start building something upon a foundation of lies. Somewhere in the back of Oswald’s mind, he knows this, as spectacular as it feels, probably isn’t the best idea. He had rejected the Riddler, because he wasn’t Ed, after all. Yet the attraction remained, increased even, with his new appearance and the loud and unapologetic display of who he really is. It’s an odd time for the thought to come to him but, was he really in love with _Ed_ before? Or was he in love with an idyll? Edward had built his world around Oswald, and he’d loved being at the centre of it. He did everything Oswald asked, was always there when Oswald wanted him to be. _Everything_ was tailored to suit Oswald’s needs. Is that what Oswald had loved? Was his inherent selfishness such that he simply loved what the man could do for him, rather than who he was?

It’s like Oswald sees everything anew, then. He gently pushes Edward back slightly, so he can look at him. Edward’s chest is heaving, his breaths coming in pants, and even though the mask covers his eyebrows, Oswald can read worry in his eyes. He’d thought they could go through with this fuelled by anger, jealousy and unfulfilled desires, against both their better judgements. But Oswald can’t do that. Edward likely thinks Oswald only wants this because even though he’s not _Ed_ , he still looks like him. Oswald can’t let him think that he wants to use Edward for physical gratification only. 

“I don’t want—not like this.” Being articulate is something Oswald prides himself on, however at the moment it is a skill that seems to have abandoned him. As he watches, he can see Edward closing himself off, trying not to show how hurt he is. 

“You don’t want me at all.” Each word is jagged like glass. 

Oswald can’t find the words to express what he is feeling; the tumult of emotions is confusing. The conflict, the warring of desires—honesty versus pure _want_ , is making him unsteady on his feet. Adrenaline clouds his mind, and Edward is still standing in front of him, rain-soaked and devastatingly attractive. It takes everything in him to make rationality overrule everything else, because trying to make sense of the mess they have found themselves in is going to be difficult. He wishes his brain would arrive at a method of handling the situation faster, for the longer he stays silent, the more Edward draws away from him.

“I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.” Oswald can hardly bear the look of pain and regret in his eyes.

With that, Edward walks away, opening each of the doors of the apartment before he finds what he’s looking for. He disappears inside the room and the door clicks shut behind him.

Oswald leans back against the wall and sighs, trying to control his breathing. Edward had _kissed_ him; Oswald had wanted him to. It had felt euphoric, and his hands are still shaking from the intensity of it. He had never thought kissing could be so electrifying. Though he was utterly unexperienced until a few minutes ago, he knows the reason it was so incredible is because it was Ed. 

Edward had kissed him with his entire being. Oswald had felt all of his love and passion in the urgency of his touches. How intoxicating it is, to be the one desired by Edward Nygma, the _Riddler_ , uninhibited, unashamed.

All this time Oswald has been telling himself that one couldn’t love a person who was so drastically changed from the one they had loved before—because Edward has essentially become someone else.

But has he really?

Oswald sees the Ed he knew in his efficiency and his intelligence, the only difference being that he now takes it to entirely new heights. He sees that Ed in his kind gestures (Oswald thinks about eating take-out on the floor of that motel room, how he ordered for him at the drive-through, and how, in his way, Edward is still taking care of him) and his unwavering support for everything Oswald does, even if it goes against his own ambitions—he knows he greatly tested Edward’s resolve by asking him to wait to kill Sofia. 

He sees it in the way Ed and his alter-ego harmoniously worked together to rescue him; they _both_ wanted Edward to be the best version of himself purely for the purpose of saving Oswald. Both of them have made it clear they would die for him. 

The Riddler is simply a darker, uninhibited Edward Nygma. Oswald had clung on to the chief of staff Ed as part of his refusal to let go of his old life; his yearning for their former happiness as rulers of Gotham. For a time, all he wanted was for everything to go back to the way things were.

The differences Oswald has been seeing are superficial. _All_ of him is Edward Nygma, everything comes back to him. Newer and more enhanced mental faculties or not, Edward’s love for Oswald never changed. 

And Oswald realises, as his heart stops, neither has his love for Ed.

He looks down the hall, at the door to the room Ed had gone into. The thunder is further away now, the rumbles a distant groaning. He feels at once calmer and more feverish, as the clarity of his new knowledge settles into his bones. 

Edward is probably sitting in that room feeling angry, humiliated and rejected, and that pains Oswald. He may not have asked for that kiss, but he’d wanted it. He _still_ wants it. Wants _Edward_. 

*

Edward opens the closet doors on auto pilot; his head isn’t thinking about the need for dry clothes.

He hadn’t exactly planned to kiss Oswald. But when he’d baited Edward like that, setting a clear challenge…He’d thought well of _course_ , he still _looks_ the same, and Oswald might desire him for his body, if not for his mind. And it could take the edge off for Edward, struggling as he is to be around Oswald all the time and keep his feelings and attraction locked away. 

How wrong he was. 

He’d had just a small taste, and it had only fanned the flames. He wants more, he _needs_ more. How is he supposed to live without it, now that he knows what it feels like?

The door opens behind him, and Oswald’s telling footsteps make their way into the room. Edward doesn’t turn around, even when Oswald comes to a stop right behind him.

“There are some dry clothes in here,” Edward says, hanging up his waistcoat to dry. “Nothing you’d want to be seen in outside this place but—”

“Ed.”

The tone of his voice makes Edward turn around. Oswald is standing between himself and the bed, the expression on his face not unlike the way Oswald would look at him before, when Edward would go out of his way to do something for him, either in the office or the mansion. Except the look he is seeing now is far more emotive. Edward wonders that he ever missed what any of these rather blatant proclamations meant before.

“You’re wrong.” Oswald closes the distance between them. “I do want you.” He leans up to give him a poignant kiss, so agonizing in its perfection that it disarms him. It’s a kiss that Edward will be able to recall even in the deepest, darkest depths of his future psychoses. 

Oswald reaches out a hand, and Edward knows he’s touching his face, but he can’t feel it. Edward belatedly realises it’s because Oswald is touching his mask. He can see it in the mirror on the opposing wall; Oswald’s fingers appearing to move reverently across the dark purple leather. Edward supposes Oswald wants him to take it off so that there are no reminders of who he is now. 

A fresh wave of pain tears through his chest as he lifts his hands and prepares to remove the mask.

But once Oswald realises what he is doing, he captures both his wrists to halt the movement. Edward stares at him in confusion. What does Oswald want, if not the Ed he used to be?

“ _All_ of you.” Oswald reiterates passionately.

Surely he can’t mean—

“Yes I do,” Oswald says, smiling for the first time since they’d left Jim’s apartment. 

Had Edward said that out loud? Oswald’s smile widens; he supposes his bewilderment must present a comical picture. 

Oswald hooks a finger in Edward’s shirt and pulls him back towards the bed. He sits down on the edge of it and looks up at Edward, waiting. 

Edward wants to believe him, wants to let go of all his doubts. But he has struggled with being accepted for as long as he can remember, and all that won’t be erased in one night. 

“You’re not going to string me along are you, Oswald?”

For a moment Oswald looks utterly perplexed, before a fierce determination comes into his eyes. “Never.”

There’s a smile tugging at Edward’s lips as the tension drains out of him, and he allows himself to unearth and unlock the box where he had tried to bury his feelings for Oswald. 

Like curtains drawn in a dusty, abandoned, lonely room, light spreads throughout every part of him. Edward finally gets to be _himself_ , in every part of his life—no more running, no more hiding. He climbs into Oswald’s lap, desperate to feel what it is to be loved, to show Oswald the violence of his own affections. 

Now that he has set it free, there is no going back. 

*

It had seemed like a fool proof plan, when they had discussed it back at the motel. Now they find themselves struggling against icy winds that burn the tiny slivers of skin that are bared to it, and it starts to seem like perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea. The wind howls relentlessly as it cuts blisteringly through their woefully inadequate clothing. 

Mercifully it only takes them another five minutes to reach the place they’re looking for, and Oswald wrenches the door open, gesturing for Edward to enter first, before he pulls it shut behind them. It’s not insulated, and snow flies in through the cracks. But then, why would it be? 

They both heave sighs of relief at being out of the winds, but the reprieve is short lived as they realise the inside of the place is even colder than the outside. Edward’s face is barely visible through the thick clouds of his breath. He wanders further into what can’t really be called a room given the snow on the ground, and Oswald watches as he looks at the shelves curiously. He raises a hand to a block of ice, just shy of touching it. It holds within it a spread butterfly, Oswald finds himself marvelling as Ed says “ _fascinating_ ”. He turns back to look at Oswald excitedly, and he finds himself returning the look. For a moment, they’re just Oswald and Edward, exploring the weird and wonderful. For a moment, not everything is about Sofia Falcone. What a strange feeling that is. 

Edward turns away and continues his perusal, and Oswald takes a few steps further towards the other end of the ice box that one unique man calls home. 

“Hello?” Oswald calls. “Anyone home?”

Oswald looks around, but sees no one, hears no signs of life. For some reason this makes him more nervous than if the man they’re looking for had been standing in the middle of the place when they’d arrived, staring at them. 

Edward, who doesn’t miss a trick, comes closer, and smiles encouragingly, despite the fact he has ice in his hair and crowding around the edges of his glasses. There’s no need for the mask here; it’s unlikely that he’ll be recognised. He takes Oswald’s gloved hands in his own and leans down for a frosty kiss, their breaths spiralling around them. Edward’s mouth is so wonderfully warm, he’s about to go on tip toes and greedily lean up for more, when a thud behind them makes them jump apart. 

There stands the man himself, Victor Fries. There’s a block of ice at his feet and an ice pick in his hand and he’s watching them, looking distinctly unimpressed.

Oswald glances at Edward and then takes a couple of steps towards Victor. 

“Mr. Fries,” he says, attempting a smile and trying to keep his eyes on Victor’s face and not on his naked silvery blue torso. “Welcome home.”

It goes better than Oswald expects really, all things considered. He’s not entirely surprised to find himself pinned to the wall by the ice pick. He hears a gun being cocked as Edward steps up and presses the barrel against Victor’s temple. The expression on his face is formidable. 

“You may be able to survive in temperatures that would kill most humans, but that doesn’t make you bulletproof,” Edward growls. 

Oswald looks at Edward and shakes his head. “No, it’s all right.” 

Edward hesitantly lowers the gun and takes a step backward, and Oswald turns his attention back to Victor. “I see you still hold me responsible for all of that awful monster rhetoric I spewed during my campaign.”

“You ran people like me out of Gotham!” Victor retorts angrily, pressing his ice pick harder against Oswald’s neck. 

“We both know I only said those things because that was what the voters wanted to hear.”

Victor merely purses his lips and tightens his hold on Oswald, nostrils flaring. 

“Your experiments, Mr Fries,” Edward says, gesturing with a nod towards all of Victor’s equipment. “You’re trying to reverse your condition aren’t you?” Ed walks over to the case he’d brought with him, crouches behind it and prepares to unclip the latches. Victor watches him warily.

“We can help you,” Oswald says, and Victor looks back at him.

“Why would you do that?” Another shove against the wall makes Oswald’s patience start to fray.

“Our enemy took everything from us! Tried to kill him,” he motions to Ed, who nods solemnly, “and had me committed.” Oswald inhales painfully through his nose—it’s becoming more and more difficult to keep the shivering out of his voice. “You help us get our revenge, and when we take back power over this city, we will give you every resource you need to free yourself from this icy prison.”

Considering this, Victor steps back and finally frees Oswald from his death grip. “Even if I wanted to say yes, I can only survive a few hours out of the cold without my suit.”

“And you don’t have it, because it’s been locked away in a Wayne Enterprises black site ever since you escaped Indian Hill.” Oswald smiles as he prepares the piece de resistance. “Ed?”

Edward grins smugly as he opens the case. He looks every inch the game show host presenting the irresistible prize to be won. Perhaps in another life that might have been his calling.

Victor approaches it and stares aghast. “My suit?” He looks up at Edward for an explanation, but he simply grins at him.

“So Mr. Fries. Will you join us?”

Victor looks at Oswald then, and for the first time, he sees a hint of a smile: the prospect of being able to live without snow is clearly too tempting for him. 

A simple nod is all Oswald gets before Victor takes the box and goes to change into the suit. 

Edward stands up and they grin at each other. They have successfully managed to recruit the first member of their army. Their next stop will be a considerably warmer one—out of the ice and into the fire.

*

By the end of the day they have managed, with the help of Selina Kyle, to also recruit Bridgit Pike and Ivy Pepper. Trying to fit them all into Jim’s tiny safe house apartment is something of a challenge. The place only has two bedrooms. Edward and Oswald end up sharing one, Bridgit and Ivy the other, and Victor is left to try and make himself as comfortable as he can on the couch in his suit.

Oswald had tried to reach Victor Zsasz, but had had no luck getting through. The five of them he has assembled will be a formidable enough army in any case: ice, fire, poison, ruthless and cunning. Ivy had come up with a name for their new group, “family of freaks” over dinner. Initially everyone had been offended, until Oswald had had voiced his approval of taking an insult and turning it into a badge of honour. It does feel indescribably good to be part of something, and to have people be loyal to him, regardless of their reasons for doing it. 

It actually ends up being an almost _enjoyable_ , but mostly surreal affair, the camaraderie between them creating a warm atmosphere. The one thing they all have in common is that they’re outcasts, all desperately searching for their place in Gotham City. The only two people who don’t seem to really care for each other are Bridgit and Victor. Which given their respective afflictions, Oswald supposes, is only natural. 

Oswald and Edward, seated next to each other around the cramped table, continuously find excuses to touch each other. Ivy demands so much attention with her chatter that it’s easy to get away with stealing looks at each other. Victor is sullen, unresponsive and quiet, which means he watches them, rather than joining in the chatter. But it doesn’t matter if he sees, because he already knows; he had caught them kissing after all. They hold hands under the table and smile at each other, desperate to be alone together, but most of all delighted that they _have_ something to hide. When Oswald next looks around to politely acknowledge whatever point Ivy is making, he catches Victor’s eye. He looks unbearably sad—so much so that Oswald finds he can’t hold his gaze. He looks away.

They haven’t heard anything from Jim or from Tetch and Crane, so they assume that everything will go ahead the following night as planned. So far all of the pieces have fallen into place, minus the absence of Victor Zsasz.

As successful as the day has been—the first good day Oswald can remember having for quite some time—Oswald is glad to finally retire with Edward to their room. 

They strip down to their undershirts and boxers, as they had the night before. They hadn’t gone beyond kissing and touching above the waist—neither of them wants to explore the most intimate side of their new relationship in any place associated with Jim Gordon. Hearing Bridgit and Ivy chattering away in the bedroom next door doesn’t help the mood any. But that’s fine. He’s content—he has a family of sorts, and Oswald is hard pressed to remember a time when he’d been happier than this. 

They settle for slipping under the covers and curling around each other, and it’s quite amazing how natural it feels to do so. They kiss languidly, pulling each other closer, legs twined together. Edward isn’t wearing the mask tonight, for which Oswald is silently thankful. He hadn’t anticipated the affect it would have on him in intimate situations. He may have lost control slightly.

“Oswald,” Edward begins, leaning back on the pillow so he can look at Oswald.

“Yes?” Oswald responds, tracing his fingers lightly over the curve of Edward’s waist and hips. His figure really is exquisite.

“Do you remember what you said to me on the fire escape yesterday?” Edward then rolls over to lay on his back and stare at the ceiling, seemingly to avoid Oswald’s eyes.

“Which part in particular?” Oswald asks, afraid of where this line of questioning is heading.

Edward takes a deep breath. “You said we need to go our separate ways when this is over.” He looks troubled, as though steeling himself, and Oswald instinctually retracts his hand from where it had been lying across Edward’s stomach. He moves to lie on his back too, so he won’t have to look at that expression.

“I remember,” Oswald says simply. 

“Do you still think we should do that?” 

Oswald closes his eyes. Nothing is ever easy.

“I am going to be very busy when this is over,” he starts. “When the mansion is returned to me, I’m going to sell it and use the money to buy a property in the city. I’m going to set up a club, and it’s going to take a lot of time and effort for my visualisation of it to become a reality. This is my dream, Ed. And I’m finally going to be in a position to make it happen. I’m going to eat, sleep and breathe that club. I will not fail this time.”

“It’s going to be magnificent,” Edward says. There’s not a shadow of doubt in his voice—he says it as though it’s indisputable fact.

“Thank you,” Oswald says, turning his head to risk a look at Edward. “You’re welcome to join me you know. We could be business partners.”

Edward turns to look at him too, and smiles. “We do make a great team.”

It’s a noncommittal answer, and he can tell that Edward is trying to reassure him, but he doesn’t quite pull it off. He knows Edward is thinking it may not be the right path for him. Oswald’s smile fades and he turns fully towards Edward again, wanting him to fully understand.

“You can join me, or—” he pauses as Edward turns to face him too, “—you can go and do whatever it is you need to do. The choice is yours.”

Oswald has spent a lifetime being selfish. Of course he would like to keep Edward by his side, especially now they have finally arrived at a place where they feel the same way about each other. But he can’t ask Edward to make his life Oswald’s. Edward has to be able to choose it for himself. It’s true that he is just finding his feet as the Riddler—he must have things he wants to do now that he doesn’t work for the GCPD, the mayor’s office, or _anyone_. He finally gets to decide his own path. 

Edward smiles a slow smile, and shuffles closer to Oswald so he can wrap his arms around him once again. 

“I’ll give it some thought,” he says, ever the strategist.

“It’s almost over,” Oswald whispers as he leans in for a kiss. Better not to discuss Edward’s impending decision further.

Edward pushes Oswald onto his back so he can lean over the top of him. Oswald remembers Edward doing this last night: he was wearing his mask, and had pinned Oswald’s hands above his head as he sucked bruises into Oswald’s skin. There’s a swooping feeling in his stomach at the memory, and his heart rate increases dramatically.

“Tomorrow we’ll have our revenge,” Edward says against Oswald’s lips, before devouring Oswald’s mouth completely. He sighs and surrenders all control to Edward once again, letting the man take what he needs. Oswald would give him anything he wanted, and he would do it gladly and without hesitation. 

It could be their last night together.

*

“Have a seat,” Sofia says, motioning to the chair opposite her at her desk. “I’m so happy you could come at such short notice.”

The strange looking bald man with the bright eyes sits down and nods his head to politely acknowledge her words. 

“How may I be of service to you Miss Falcone?”

“I may have a new role lined up for you, Mr. Karlo.” She gets up and prowls around her desk, tracing her fingers along the polished wood as she goes. She leans against the top of it, just to Karlo’s side. He looks up at her with intrigue. 

“You will of course be compensated _very_ handsomely for your time and effort,” she says, continuing to trace shapes on the surface of the table. “And I _know_ I can count on you for your discretion.”

“Naturally,” Karlo says, looking her over with undisguised interest. “This role you mentioned, what did you have in mind?”

“It’s a very special assignment. Very personal. And it’s not without risks. Something I will make you fully aware of if you agree.” She stands up and goes to lean on the back of his chair, so her mouth is right next to his ear. 

“I see. So who do you want me to be?”

Sofia laughs a soft girlish laugh, and she feels Mr. Karlo tense. 

“Me.”


End file.
